SECRETS  OF 
THE  WO 


I 


WILLIAM  J.LONG 


LIBRARY 

OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA, 

Clots 
>-^»     » -^  <OLO(5Y 


There  was  Tookhees  sitting  on  the  rim  of  my  drinking  cup 


SECRETS  OFfTHE  WOODS 


ILLIAM    J.    LONG 


WOOD   FOLK   SERIES 
BOOK   THREE 


BOSTON,  U.S.A.,  AND  LONDON 
GINN   &  COMPANY,   PUBLISHERS] 
atbrneetiin  Press 
1903 


•- 


ENTERED  AT  STATIONERS'  HALL 


COPYRIGHT,  1901 
BY  WILLIAM   J.  LONG 

ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Uj£ 


TO 

CH'GEEGEE-LOKH-SIS,  '  Little 
Friend  Ch'geegee/  whose 
coming  makes  the  winter  glad 


131451 


PREFACE 

THIS  little  book  is  but  another  chapter  in  the  shy,  wild 
life  of  the  fields  and  woods,  of  which  "Ways  of  Wood 
Folk"  and  "Wilderness  Ways"  were  the  beginning.  It  is 
given  gladly  in  answer  to  the  call  for  more  from  those  who 
have  read  the  previous  volumes,  and  whose  letters  are  full 
of  the  spirit  of  kindness  and  appreciation. 

Many  questions  have  come  of  late  with  these  same 
letters ;  chief  of  which  is  this :  How  shall  one  discover 
such  things  for  himself  ?  how  shall  we,  too,  read  the 
secrets  of  the  Wood  Folk  ? 

There  is  no  space  here  to  answer,  to  describe  the  long 
training,  even  if  one  could  explain  perfectly  what  is  more 
or  less  unconscious.  I  would  only  suggest  that  perhaps  the 
real  reason  why  we  see  so  little  in  the  woods  is  the  way 
we  go  through  them  —  talking,  laughing,  rustling,  smashing 
twigs,  disturbing  the  peace  of  the  solitudes  by  what  must 
seem  strange  and  uncouth  noises  to  the  little  wild  creatures. 
They,  on  the  other  hand,  slip  with  noiseless  feet  through 
their  native  coverts,  shy,  silent,  listening,  more  concerned  to ' 
hear  than  to  be  heard,  loving  the  silence,  hating  noise  and 
fearing  it,  as  they  fear  and  hate  their  natural  enemies. 

We  would  not  feel  comfortable  if  a  big  barbarian  came 
into  our  quiet  home,  broke  the  door  down,  whacked  his 


vi  Preface 

war-club  on  the  furniture,  and  whooped  his  battle  yell.  We 
could  hardly  be  natural  under  the  circumstances.  Our  true 
dispositions  would  hide  themselves.  We  might  even  vacate 
the  house  bodily.  Just  so  Wood  Folk.  Only  as  you  copy 
their  ways  can  you  expect  to  share  their  life  and  their 
secrets.  And  it  is  astonishing  how  little  the  shyest  of 
them  fears  you,  if  you  but  keep  silence  and  avoid  all  excite- 
ment, even  of  feeling;  for  they  understand  your  feeling 
quite  as  much  as  your  action. 

A  dog  knows  when  you  are  afraid  of  him ;  when  you  are 
hostile ;  when  friendly.  So  does  a  bear.  Lose  your  nerve, 
and  the  horse  you  are  riding  goes  to  pieces  instantly. 
Bubble  over  with  suppressed  excitement,  and  the  deer 
yonder,  stepping  daintily  down  the  bank  to  your  canoe  in 
the  water  grasses,  will  stamp  and  snort  and  bound  away 
without  ever  knowing  what  startled  him.  But  be  quiet, 
friendly,  peace-possessed  in  the  same  place,  and  the  deer, 
even  after  discovering  you,  will  draw  near  and  show  his 
curiosity  in  twenty  pretty  ways  ere  he  trots  away,  look- 
ing back  over  his  shoulder  for  your  last  message.  Then 
be  generous  —  show  him  the  flash  of  a  looking-glass,  the 
flutter  of  a  bright  handkerchief,  a  tin  whistle,  or  any  other 
little  kickshaw  that  the  remembrance  of  a  boy's  pocket 
may  suggest  —  and  the  chances  are  that  he  will  come 
back  again,  finding  curiosity  so  richly  rewarded. 

That  is  another  point  to  remember :  all  the  Wood  Folk 
are  more  curious  about  you  than  you  are  about  them.  Sit 


Preface  vii 

down  quietly  in  the  woods  anywhere,  and  your  coming  will 
occasion  the  same  stir  that  a  stranger  makes  in  a  New 
England  hill  town.  Control  your  curiosity,  and  soon  their 
curiosity  gets  beyond  control ;  they  must  come  to  find  out 
who  you  are  and  what  you  are  doing.  Then  you  have  the 
advantage ;  for,  while  their  curiosity  is  being  satisfied,  they 
forget  fear  and  show  you  many  curious  bits  of  their  life 
that  you  will  never  discover  otherwise. 

As  to  the  source  of  these  sketches,  it  is  the  same  as  that 
of  the  others  —  years  of  quiet  observation  in  the  woods  and 
fields,  and  some  old  notebooks  which  hold  the  records  of 
summer  and  winter  camps  in  the  great  wilderness. 

My  kind  publishers  announced,  some  time  ago,  a  table  of 
contents,  which  included  chapters  on  jay  and  fish-hawk, 
panther  and  musquash,  and  a  certain  savage  old  bull  moose 
that  once  took  up  his  abode  too  near  my  camp  for  comfort. 
My  only  excuse  for  their  non-appearance  is  that  my  little 
book  was  full  before  their  turn  came.  They  will  find  their 
place,  I  trust,  in  another  volume  presently. 

WM.  J.  LONG. 

STAMFORD,  CONN.,  June,  1901. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

TOOKHEES    THE    'FRAID    ONE 3 

A  WILDERNESS  BYWAY 23 

KEEONEKH  THE  FISHERMAN       .        .         .         .         .        .         .29 

KOSKOMENOS  THE  OUTCAST 54 

MEEKO  THE  MISCHIEF-MAKER    .  73 

THE  OL'  BEECH  PA'TRIDGE 103 

FOLLOWING  THE  DEER 128 

SUMMER  WOODS 128 

STILL  HUNTING ".        .  139 

WINTER  TRAILS    . 1 54 

SNOW  BOUND    .         .     "  . 170 


GLOSSARY  OF  INDIAN  NAMES 185 


ix 


SECRETS  OF   THE   WOODS 


TOOKH 

1  ,?j3 


NE 


ITTLE  Tookhees  the  wood  mouse,  the 
'Fraid  One,  as  Simmo  calls  him,  always 
makes  two  appearances  when  you  squeak 
to  bring  him  out.  First,  after  much 
peeking,  he  runs  out  of  his  tunnel ;  sits  up  once  on 
his  hind  legs  ;  rubs  his  eyes  with  his  paws ;  looks  up 
for  the  owl,  and  behind  him  for  the  fox,  and  straight 
ahead  at  the  tent  where  the  man  lives ;  then  he  dives 
back  headlong  into  his  tunnel  with  a  rustle  of  leaves 
and  a  frightened  whistle,  as  if  Kupkawis  the  little  owl 
had  seen  him.  That  is  to  reassure  himself.  In  a 
moment  he  comes  back  softly  to  see  what  kind  of 
crumbs  you  have  given  him. 

3 


4  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

No  wonder  Tookhees  is  so  timid,  for  there  is  no 
place  in  earth  or  air  or  water,  outside  his  own  little 
doorway  under  the  mossy  stone,  where  he  is  safe. 
Above  him  the  owls  watch  by  night  and  the  hawks 
by  day ;  around  him  not  a  prowler  of  the  wilderness, 
from  Mooween  the  bear  down  through  a  score  of 
gradations,  to  Kagax  the  bloodthirsty  little  weasel, 
but  will  sniff  under  every  old  log  in  the  hope  of 
finding  a  wood  mouse ;  and  if  he  takes  a  swim,  as  he 
is  fond  of  doing,  not  a  big  trout  in  the  river  but 
leaves  his  eddy  to  rush  at  the  tiny  ripple  holding 
bravely  across  the  current.  So,  with  all  these  enemies 
waiting  to  catch  him  the  moment  he  ventures  out, 
Tookhees  must  needs  make  one  or  two  false  starts  in 
order  to  find  out  where  the  coast  is  clear. 

That  is  why  he  always  dodges  back  after  his  first 
appearance;  why  he  gives  you  two  or  three  swift 
glimpses  of  himself,  now  here,  now  there,  before  com- 
ing out  into  the  light.  He  knows  his  enemies  are  so 
hungry,  so  afraid  he  will  get  away  or  that  somebody 
else  will  catch  him,  that  they  jump  for  him  the  moment 
he  shows  a  whisker.  So  eager  are  they  for  his  flesh, 
and  so  sure,  after  missing  him,  that  the  swoop  of 
wings  or  the  snap  of  red  jaws  has  scared  him  into 
permanent  hiding,  that  they  pass  on  to  other  trails. 
And  when  a  prowler,  watching  from  behind  a  stump, 


Tookhees  the  'Fraid  One  5 

sees  Tookhees  flash  out  of  sight  and  hears  his  startled 
squeak,  he  thinks  naturally  that  the  keen  little  eyes 
have  seen  the  tail,  which  he  forgot  to  curl  close 
enough,  and  so  sneaks  away  as  if  ashamed  of  himself. 
Not  even  the  fox,  whose  patience  is  without  end,  has 
learned  the  wisdom  of  waiting  for  Tookhees'  second 
appearance.  And  that  is  the  salvation  of  the  little 
'Fraid  One. 

From  all  these  enemies  Tookhees  has  one  refuge, 
the  little  arched  nest  beyond  the  pretty  doorway  under 
the  mossy  stone.  Most  of  his  enemies  can  dig,  to 
be  sure,  but  his  tunnel  winds  about  in  such  a  way 
that  they  never  can  tell  from  the  looks  of  his  doorway 
where  it  leads  to ;  and  there  are  no  snakes  in  the  wil- 
derness to  follow  and  find  out.  Occasionally  I  have 
seen  where  Mooween  the  bear  has  turned  the  stone 
over  and  clawed  the  earth  beneath ;  but  there  is  gen- 
erally a  tough  root  in  the  way,  and  Mooween  con- 
cludes that  he  is  taking  too  much  trouble  for  so  small 
a  mouthful,  and  shuffles  off  to  the  log  where  the 
red  ants  live. 

On  his  journeys  through  the  woods  Tookhees 
never  forgets  the  dangerous  possibilities.  His  prog- 
ress is  a  series  of  jerks,  and  whisks,  and  jumps,  and 
hidings.  He  leaves  his  doorway,  after  much  watch- 
ing, and  shoots  like  a  minnow  across  the  moss  to  an 


6  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

upturned  root.  There  he  sits  up  and  listens,  rubbing 
his  whiskers  nervously.  Then  he  glides  along  the 
root  for  a  couple  of  feet,  drops  to  the  ground  and 
disappears.  He  is  hiding  there  under  a  dead  leaf. 
A  moment  of  stillness  and  he  jumps  like  a  jack-in-a- 
box.  Now  he  is  sitting  on  the  leaf  that  covered  him, 
rubbing  his  whiskers  again,  looking  back  over  his 
trail  as  if  he  heard  footsteps  behind  him.  Then 
another  nervous  dash,  a  squeak  which  proclaims  at 
once  his  escape  and  his  arrival,  and  he  vanishes 
under  the  old  moss-grown  log  where  his  fellows  live, 
a  whole  colony  of  them. 

All  these  things,  and  many  more,  I  discovered  the 
first  season  that  I  began  to  study  the  wild  things  that 
lived  within  sight  of  my  tent.  I  had  been  making 
long  excursions  after  bear  and  beaver,  following  on 
wild-goose  chases  after  Old  Whitehead  the  eagle  and 
Kakagos  the  wild  woods  raven  that  always  escaped 
me,  only  to  find  that  within  the  warm  circle  of  my 
camp-fire  little  wild  folk  were  hiding  whose  lives 
were  more  unknown  and  quite  as  interesting  as  the 
greater  creatures  I  had  been  following. 

One  day,  as  I  returned  quietly  to  camp,  I  saw 
Simmo  quite  lost  in  watching  something  near  my 
tent.  He  stood  beside  a  great  birch  tree,  one  hand 
resting  against  the  bark  that  he  would  claim  next 


Tookhees  the  '  Fraid  One  7 

winter  for  his  new  canoe ;  the  other  hand  still  grasped 
his  axe,  which  he  had  picked  up  a  moment  before  to 
quicken  the  tempo  of  the  bean  kettle's  song.  His 
dark  face  peered  behind  the  tree  with  a  kind  of  child- 
like intensity  written  all  over  it. 

I  stole  nearer  without  his  hearing  me;  but  I  could 
see  nothing.  The  woods  were  all  still.  Killooleet 
was  dozing  by  his  nest ;  the  chickadees  had  vanished, 
knowing  that  it  was  not  meal  time ;  and  Meeko  the 
red  squirrel  had  been  made  to  jump  from  the  fir  top 
to  the  ground  so  often  that  now  he  kept  sullenly  to 
his  own  hemlock  across  the  island,  nursing  his  sore 
feet  and  scolding  like  a  fury  whenever  I  approached. 
Still  Simmo  watched,  as  if  a  bear  were  approach- 
ing his  bait,  till  I  whispered,  "  Quiee,  Simmo,  what 
is  it?" 

"  Nodwar  k'chee  Toquis,  I  see  little  'Fraid  One," 
he  said,  unconsciously  dropping  into  his  own  dialect, 
which  is  the  softest  speech  in  the  world,  so  soft  that 
wild  things  are  not  disturbed  when  they  hear  it, 
thinking  it  only  a  louder  sough  of  the  pines  or  a 
softer  tunking  of  ripples  on  the  rocks. — "  O  bah  cosh, 
see!  He  wash-um  face  in  yo  HI  cup."  And  when  I 
tiptoed  to  his  side,  there  was  Tookhe.es  sitting  on  the 
rim  of  my  drinking  cup,  in  which  I  had  left  a  new 
leader  to  soak  for  the  evening's  fishing,  scrubbing 


8  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

his  face  diligently,  like  a  boy  who  is  watched  from 
behind  to  see  that  he  slights  not  his  ears  or  his 
neck. 

Remembering  my  own  boyhood  on  cold  mornings, 
I  looked  behind  him  to  see  if  he  also  were  under 
compulsion,  but  there  was  no  other  mouse  in  sight. 
He  would  scoop  up  a  double  handful  of  water  in  his 
paws,  rub  it  rapidly  up  over  nose  and  eyes,  and  then 
behind  his  ears,  on  the  spots  that  wake  you  up 
quickest  when  you  are  sleepy.  Then  another  scoop 
of  water,  and  another  vigorous  rub,  ending  behind  his 
ears  as  before. 

Simmo  was  full  of  wonder,  for  an  Indian  notices 
few  things  in  the  woods  beside  those  that  pertain  to 
his  trapping  and  hunting;  and  to  see  a  mouse  wash 
his  face  was  as  incomprehensible  to  him  as  to  see  me 
read  a  book.  But  all  wood  mice  are  very  cleanly; 
they  have  none  of  the  strong  odors  of  our  house  mice. 
Afterwards,  while  getting  acquainted,  I  saw  him  wash 
many  times  in  the  plate  of  water  that  I  kept  rilled 
near  his  den ;  but  he  never  washed  more  than  his 
face  and  the  sensitive  spot  behind  his  ears.  Some- 
times, however,  when  I  have  seen  him  swimming  in 
the  lake  or  river,  I  have  wondered  whether  he  were 
going  on  a  journey,  or  just  bathing  for  the  love  of 
it,  as  he  washed  his  face  in  my  cup. 


Tookhees  the  '  Fraid  One  9 

I  left  the  cup  where  it  was  and  spread  a  feast  for 
the  little  guest,  cracker  crumbs  and  a  bit  of  candle 
end.  In  the  morning  they  were  gone,  the  signs  of 
several  mice  telling  plainly  who  had  been  called  in 
from  the  wilderness  byways.  That  was  the  introduc- 
tion of  man  to  beast.  Soon  they  came  regularly.  I 
had  only  to  scatter  crumbs  and  squeak  a  few  times 
like  a  mouse,  when  little  streaks  and  flashes  would 
appear  on  the  moss  or  among  the  faded  gold  tapes- 
tries of  old  birch  leaves,  and  the  little  wild  things 
would  come  to  my  table,  their  eyes  shining  like  jet, 
their  tiny  paws  lifted  to  rub  their  whiskers  or  to 
shield  themselves  from  the  fear  under  which  they 
lived  continually. 

They  were  not  all  alike  —  quite  the  contrary.  One, 
the  same  who  had  washed  in  my  cup,  was  gray  and 
old,  and  wise  from  much  dodging  of  enemies.  His 
left  ear  was  split  from  a  fight,  or  an  owl's  claw, 
probably,  that  just  missed  him  as  he  dodged  under 
a  root.  He  was  at  once  the  shyest  and  boldest  of 
the  lot.  For  a  day  or  two  he  came  with  marvelous 
stealth,  making  use  of  every  dead  leaf  and  root  tangle 
to  hide  his  approach,  and  shooting  across  the  open 
spaces  so  quickly  that  one  knew  not  what  had 
happened  —  just  a  dun  streak  which  ended  in  noth- 
ing. And  the  brown  leaf  gave  no  sign  of  what  it 


io  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

sheltered.  But  once  assured  of  his  ground,  he  came 
boldly.  This  great  man-creature,  with  his  face  close 
to  the  table,  perfectly  still  but  for  his  eyes,  with  a 
hand  that  moved  gently  if  it  moved  at  all,  was  not  to 
be  feared  —  that  Tookhees  felt  instinctively.  And 
this  strange  fire  with  hungry  odors,  and  the  white 
tent,  and  the  comings  and  goings  of  men  who  were 
masters  of  the  woods  kept  fox  and  lynx  and  owl  far 
away  —  that  he  learned  after  a  day  or  two.  Only  the 
mink,  who  crept  in  at  night  to  steal  the  man's  fish, 
was  to  be  feared.  So  Tookhees  presently  gave  up 
his  nocturnal  habits  and  came  out  boldly  into  the 
sunlight.  Ordinarily  the  little  creatures  come  out  in 
the  dusk,  when  their  quick  movements  are  hidden 
among  the  shadows  that  creep  and  quiver.  But  with 
fear  gone,  they  are  only  too  glad  to  run  about  in 
the  daylight,  especially  when  good  things  to  eat  are 
calling  them. 

Besides  the  veteran  there  was  a  little  mother-mouse, 
whose  tiny  gray  jacket  was  still  big  enough  to  cover 
a  wonderful  mother  love,  as  I  afterwards  found  out. 
She  never  ate  at  my  table,  but  carried  her  fare  away 
into  hiding,  not  to  feed  her  little  ones  —  they  were 
too  small  as  yet  —  but  thinking  in  some  dumb  way, 
behind  the  bright  little  eyes,  that  they  needed  her  and 
that  her  life  must  be  spared  with  greater  precaution 


Tookhees  the  '  Fraid  One  1 1 

for  their  sakes.  She  would  steal  timidly  to  my 
table,  always  appearing  from  under  a  gray  shred  of 
bark  on  a  fallen  birch  log,  following  the  same  path, 
first  to  a  mossy  stone,  then  to  a  dark  hole  under  a 
root,  then  to  a  low  brake,  and  along  the  underside  of 
a  billet  of  wood  to  the  mouse  table.  There  she  would 
stuff  both  cheeks  hurriedly,  till  they  bulged  as  if  she 
had  toothache,  and  steal  away  by  the  same  path,  dis- 
appearing at  last  under  the  shred  of  gray  bark. 

For  a  long  time  it  puzzled  me  to  find  her  nest, 
which  I  knew  could  not  be  far  away.  It  was  not  in 
the  birch  log  where  she  disappeared  —  that  was  hollow 
the  whole  length  —  nor  was  it  anywhere  beneath  it. 
Some  distance  away  was  a  large  stone,  half  covered 
by  the  green  moss  which  reached  up  from  every  side. 
The  most  careful  search  here  had  failed  to  discover 
any  trace  of  Tookhees'  doorway;  so  one  day  when 
the  wind  blew  half  a  gale  and  I  was  going  out  on 
the  lake  alone,  I  picked  up  this  stone  to  put  in  the 
bow  of  my  canoe.  That  was  to  steady  the  little  craft 
by  bringing  her  nose  down  to  grip  the  water.  Then 
the  secret  was  out,  and  there  it  was  in  a  little  dome 
of  dried  grass  among  some  spruce  roots  under  the 
stone. 

The  mother  was  away  foraging,  but  a  faint  sibilant 
squeaking  within  the  dome  told  me  that  the  little 


12  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

ones  were  there,  and  hungry  as  usual.  As  I  watched 
there  was  a  swift  movement  in  a  tunnel  among  the 
roots,  and  the  mother-mouse  came  rushing  back.  She 
paused  a  moment,  lifting  her  forepaws  against  a  root 
to  sniff  what  danger  threatened.  Then  she  saw  my 
face  bending  over  the  opening  —  Et  tu  Brute!  and 
she  darted  into  the  nest.  In  a  moment  she  was  out 
again  and  disappeared  into  her  tunnel,  running 
swiftly  with  her  little  ones  hanging  to  her  sides  'by  a 
grip  that  could  not  be  shaken, —  all  but  one,  a  delicate 
pink  creature  that  one  could  hide  in  a  thimble,  and 
that  snuggled  down  in  the  darkest  corner  of  my  hand 
confidently. 

It  was  ten  minutes  before  the  little  mother  came 
back,  looking  anxiously  for  the  lost  baby.  When  she 
found  him  safe  in  his  own  nest,  with  the  man's  face 
still  watching,  she  was  half  reassured ;  but  when  she 
threw  herself  down  and  the  little  one  began  to  drink, 
she  grew  fearful  again  and  ran  away  into  the  tunnel, 
the  little  one  clinging  to  her  side,  this  time  securely. 

I  put  the  stone  back  and  gathered  the  moss  care- 
fully about  it.  In  a  few  days  Mother  Mouse  was 
again  at  my  table.  I  stole  away  to  the  stone,  put  my 
ear  close  to  it,  and  heard  with  immense  satisfaction 
tiny  squeaks,  which  told  me  that  the  house  was  again 
occupied.  Then  I  watched  to  find  the  path  by  which 


Tookhees  the  'Fraid  One  13 

Mother  Mouse  came  to  her  own.  When  her  cheeks 
were  full,  she  disappeared  under  the  shred  of  bark  by 
her  usual  route.  That  led  into  the  hollow  center  of 
the  birch  log,  which  she  followed  to  the  end,  where 
she  paused  a  moment,  eyes,  ears,  and  nostrils  busy ; 
then  she  jumped  to  a  tangle  of  roots  and  dead  leaves, 
beneath  which  was  a  tunnel  that  led,  deep  down 
under  the  moss,  straight  to  her  nest  beneath  the 
stone. 

Besides  these  older  mice,  there  were  five  or  six 
smaller  ones,  all  shy  save  one,  who  from  the  first 
showed  not  the  slightest  fear  but  came  straight  to  my 
hand,  ate  his  crumbs,  and  went  up  my  sleeve, "and 
proceeded  to  make  himself  a  warm  nest  there  by 
nibbling  wool  from  my  flannel  shirt. 

In  strong  contrast  to  this  little  fellow  was  another 
who  knew  too  well  what  fear  meant.  He  belonged 
to  another  tribe  that  had  not  yet  grown  accustomed 
to  man's  ways.  I  learned  too  late  how  careful  one 
must  be  in  handling  the  little  creatures  that  live 
continually  in  the  land  where  fear  reigns. 

A  little  way  behind  my  tent  was  a  great  fallen  log, 
mouldy  and  moss-grown,  with  twin-flowers  shaking 
their  bells  along  its  length,  under  which  lived  a  whole 
colony  of  wood  mice.  They  ate  the  crumbs  that  I 
placed  by  the  log ;  but  they  could  never  be  tolled  to 


14  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

my  table,  whether  because  they  had  no  split-eared  old 
veteran  to  spy  out  the  man's  ways,  or  because  my 
own  colony  drove  them  away,  I  could  never  find  out. 
One  day  I  saw  Tookhees  dive  under  the  big  log 
as  I  approached,  and  having  nothing  more  important 
to  do,  I  placed  one  big  crumb  near  his  entrance, 
stretched  out  in  the  moss,  hid  my  hand  in  a  dead 
brake  near  the  tempting  morsel,  and  squeaked  the 
call.  In  a  moment  Tookhees'  nose  and  eyes  appeared 
in  his  doorway,  his  whiskers  twitching  nervously  as 
he  smelled  the  candle  grease.  But  he  was  suspicious 
of  the  big  object,  or  perhaps  he  smelled  the  man  too 
and  was  afraid,  for  after  much  dodging  in  and  out 
he  disappeared  altogether. 

I  was  wondering  how  long  his  hunger  would  battle 
with  his  caution,  when  I  saw  the  moss  near  my  bait 
stir  from  beneath.  A  little  waving  of  the  moss 
blossoms,  and  Tookhees'  nose  and  eyes  appeared  out 
of  the  ground  for  an  instant,  sniffing  in  all  directions. 
His  little  scheme  was  evident  enough  now;  he  was 
tunneling  for  the  morsel  that  he  dared  not  take  openly. 
I  watched  with  breathless  interest  as  a  faint  quiver 
nearer  my  bait  showed  where  he  was  pushing  his 
works.  Then  the  moss  stirred  cautiously  close 
beside  his  objective ;  a  hole  opened ;  the  morsel 
tumbled  in,  and  Tookhees  was  gone  with  his  prize. 


Tookhees  the  'Fraid  One  15 

I  placed  more  crumbs  from  my  pocket  in  the  same 
plage,  and  presently  three  or  four  mice  were  nibbling 
them.  One  sat  up  close  by  the  dead  brake,  holding 
a  bit  of  bread  in  his  forepaws  like  a  squirrel.  The 
brake  stirred  suddenly;  before  he  could  jump  my 
hand  closed  over  him,  and  slipping  the  other  hand 
beneath  him  I  held  him  up  to  my  face  to  watch  him 
between  my  fingers.  He  made  no  movement  to 
escape,  but  only  trembled  violently.  His  legs  seemed 
too  weak  to  support  his  weight  now ;  he  lay  down ; 
his  eyes  closed.  One  convulsive  twitch  and  he  was 
dead  —  dead  of  fright  in  a  hand  which  had  not 
harmed  him. 

It  was  at  this  colony,  whose  members  were  all 
strangers  to  me,  that  I  learned  in  a  peculiar  way  of 
the  visiting  habits  of  wood  mice,  and  at  the  same 
time  another  lesson  that  I  shall  not  soon  forget.  For 
several  days  I  had  been  trying  every  legitimate  way 
in  vain  to  catch  a  big  trout,  a  monster  of  his  kind, 
that  lived  in  an  eddy  behind  a  rock  up  at  the  inlet. 
Trout  were  scarce  in  that  lake,  and  in  summer  the  big 
fish  are  always  lazy  and  hard  to  catch.  I  was  trout 
hungry  most  of  the  time,  for  the  fish  that  I  caught 
were  small,  and  few  and  far  between.  Several  times, 
however,  when  casting  from  the  shore  at  the  inlet 
for  small  fish,  I  had  seen  swirls  in  a  great  eddy  near 


1 6  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

the  farther  shore,  which  told  me  plainly  of  big  fish 
beneath ;  and  one  day,  when  a  huge  trout  rolled  half 
his  length  out  of  water  behind  my  fly,  small  fry  lost  all 
their  interest  and  I  promised  myself  the  joy  of  feeling 
my  rod  bend  and  tingle  beneath  the  rush  of  that  big 
trout  if  it  took  all  summer. 

Flies  were  no  use.  I  offered  him  a  bookful,  every 
variety  of  shape  and  color,  at  dawn  and  dusk,  without 
tempting  him.  I  tried  grubs,  which  bass  like,  and  a 
frog's  leg,  which  no  pickerel  can  resist,  and  little  frogs, 
such  as  big  trout  hunt  among  the  lily  pads  in  the 
twilight,  —  all  without  pleasing  him.  And  then  water- 
beetles,  and  a  red  squirrel's  tail-tip,  which  makes  the 
best  hackle  in  the  world,  and  kicking  grasshoppers, 
and  a  silver  spoon  with  a  wicked  "gang"  of  hooks, 
which  I  detest  and  which,  I  am  thankful  to  remember, 
the  trout  detested  also.  They  lay  there  in  their  big 
cool  eddy,  lazily  taking  what  food  the  stream  Brought 
down  to  them,  giving  no  heed  to  frauds  of  any 
kind. 

Then  I  caught  a  red-fin  in  the  stream  above, 
hooked  it  securely,  laid  it  on  a  big  chip,  coiled  my 
line  upon  it,  and  set  it  floating  down  stream,  the  line 
uncoiling  gently  behind  it  as  it  went.  When  it 
reached  the  eddy  I  raised  my  rod  tip ;  the  line 
straightened  ;  the  red-fin  plunged  overboard,  and  a 


Tookhees  the  y  Fraid  One  17 

two-pound  trout,  thinking,  no  doubt,  that  the  little 
fellow  had  been  hiding  under  the  chip,  rose  for  him 
and  took^him  in.  That  was  the  only  one  I  caught. 
His  struggle  disturbed  the  pool,  and  the  other  trout 
gave  no  heed  to  more  red-fins. 

Then,  one  morning  at  daybreak,  as  I  sat  on  a  big 
rock  pondering  new  baits  and  devices,  a  stir  on  an 
alder  bush  across  the  stream  caught  my  eye.  Took- 
hees the  wood  mouse  was  there,  running  over  the 
bush,  evidently  for  the  black  catkins  which  still  clung 
to  the  tips.  As  I  watched  him  he  fell,  or  jumped 
from  his  branch  into  the  quiet  water  below  and,  after 
circling  about  for  a  moment,  headed  bravely  across 
the  current.  I  could  just  see  his  nose  as  he  swam,  a 
rippling  wedge  against  the  black  water  with  a  widen- 
ing letter  V  trailing  out  behind  him.  The  current 
swept  him  downward ;  he  touched  the  edge  of  the 
big  eddy ;  there  was  a  swirl,  a  mighty  plunge  beneath, 
and  Tookhees  was  gone,  leaving  no  trace  but  a  swift 
circle  of  ripples  that  were  swallowed  up  in  the  rings 
and  dimples  behind  the  rock. —  I  had  found  what  bait 
the  big  trout  wanted. 

Hurrying  back  to  camp,  I  loaded  a  cartridge  lightly 
with  a  pinch  of  dust  shot,  spread  some  crumbs  near 
the  big  log  behind  my  tent,  squeaked  the  call  a  few 
times,  and  sat  down  to  wait.  "  These  mice  are 


1 8  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

strangers  to  me,"  I  told  Conscience,  who  was  protest- 
ing a  little,  "and  the  woods  are  full  of  them,  and  I 
want  that  trout."  * 

In  a  moment  there  was  a  rustle  in  the  mossy  door- 
way and  Tookhees  appeared.  He  darted  across  the 
open,  seized  a  crumb  in  his  mouth,  sat  up  on  his 
hind  legs,  took  the  crumb  in  his  paws,  and  began  to 
eat.  I  had  raised  the  gun,  thinking  he  would  dodge 
back  a  few  times  before  giving  me  a  shot;  his  bold- 
ness surprised  me,  but  I  did  not  recognize  him.  Still 
my  eye  followed  along  the  barrels  and  over  the  sight 
to  where  Tookhees  sat  eating  his  crumb.  My  finger 
was  pressing  the  trigger  —  "  O  you  big  butcher,"  said 
Conscience,  "  think  how  little  he  is,  and  what  a  big 
roar  your  gun  will  make  !  Are  n't  you  ashamed  ?  " 

"  But  I  want  the  trout,"  I  protested. 

"  Catch  him  then,  without  killing  this  little  harm- 
less thing,"  said  Conscience  sternly. 

"  But  he  is  a  stranger  to  me  ;  I  never  "  — 

"  He  is  eating  your  bread  and  salt,"  said  Conscience. 
That  settled  it ;  but  even  as  I  looked  at  him  over  the 
gun  sight,  Tookhees  finished  his  crumb,  came  to  my 
foot,  ran  along  my  leg  into  my  lap,  and  looked  into 
my  face  expectantly.  The  grizzled  coat  and  the  split 
ear  showed  the  welcome  guest  at  my  table  for  a  week 
past.  He  was  visiting  the  stranger  colony,  as  wood 


Tookhees  the  '  Fraid  One  19 

mice  are  fond  of  doing,  and  persuading  them  by  his 
example  that  they  might  trust  me,  as  he  did.  More 
ashamed  than  if  I  had  been  caught  potting  quail,  I 
threw  away  the  hateful  shell  that  had  almost  slain  my 
friend  and  went  back  to  camp. 

There  I  made  a  mouse  of  a  bit  of  muskrat  fur, 
with  a  piece  of  my  leather  shoestring  sewed  on  for  a 
tail.  It  served  the  purpose  perfectly,  for  within  the 
hour  I  was  gloating  over  the  size  and  beauty  of  the 
big  trout  as  he  stretched  his  length  on  the  rock 
beside  me.  But  I  lost  the  fraud  at  the  next  cast, 
leaving  it,  with  a  foot  of  my  leader,  in  the  mouth  of  a 
second  trout  that  rolled  up  at  it  the  instant  it  touched 
his  eddy  behind  the  rock. 

After  that  the  wood  mice  were  safe  so  far  as  I  was 
concerned.  Not  a  trout,  though  he  were  big  as  a 
salmon,  would  ever  taste  them,  unless  they  chose  to 
go  swimming  of  their  own  accord ;  and  I  kept  their 
table  better  supplied  than  before.  I  saw  much  of 
their  visiting  back  and  forth,  and  have  understood 
better  what  those  tunnels  mean  that  one  finds  in 
the  spring  when  the  last  snows  are  melting.  In  a 
corner  of  the  woods,  where  the  drifts  lay,  you  will 
often  find  a  score  of  tunnels  coming  in  from  all  direc- 
tions to  a  central  chamber.  They  speak  of  Tookhees' 
sociable  nature,  of  his  long  visits  with  his  fellows, 


2O  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

undisturbed  by  swoop  or  snap,  when  the  packed  snow 
above  has  swept  the  summer  fear  away  and  made 
him  safe  from  hawk  and  owl  and  fox  and  wildcat, 
and  when  no  open  water  tempts  him  to  go  swim- 
ming where  Skooktum  the  big  trout  lies  waiting, 
mouse  hungry,  under  his  eddy. 

The  weeks  passed  all  too  quickly,  as  wilderness 
weeks  do,  and  the  sad  task  of  breaking  camp  lay  just 
before  us.  But  one  thing  troubled  me  —  the  little 
Tookhees,  who  knew  no  fear,  but  tried  to  make  a 
nest  in  the  sleeve  of  my  flannel  shirt.  His  simple 
confidence  touched  me  more  than  the  curious  ways 
of  all  the  other  mice.  Every  day  he  came  and  took 
his  crumbs,  not  from  the  common  table,  but  from  my 
hand,  evidently  enjoying  its  warmth  while  he  ate, 
and  always  getting  the  choicest  morsels.  But  I 
knew  that  he  would  be  the  first  one  caught  by  the 
owl  after  I  left ;  for  it  is  fear  only  that  saves  the  wild 
things.  Occasionally  one  finds  animals  of  various 
kinds  in  which  the  instinct  of  fear  is  lacking  —  a 
frog,  a  young  partridge,  a  moose  calf  —  and  wonders 
what  golden  age  that  knew  no  fear,  or  what  glorious 
vision  of  Isaiah  in  which  lion  and  lamb  lie  down 
together,  is  here  set  forth.  I  have  even  seen  a  young 
black  duck,  whose  natural  disposition  is  wild  as  the 


Tookhees  the  '  Fraid  One  21 

wilderness  itself,  that  had  profited  nothing  by  his 
mother's  alarms  and  her  constant  lessons  in  hiding, 
but  came  bobbing  up  to  my  canoe  among  the  sedges 
of  a  wilderness  lake,  while  his  brethren  crouched 
invisible  in  their  coverts  of  bending  rushes,  and 
his  mother  flapped  wildly  off,  splashing  and  quack- 
ing and  trailing  a  wing  to  draw  me  away  from  the 
little  ones. 

Such  an  one  is  generally  abandoned  by  its  mother, 
or  else  is  the  first  to  fall  in  the  battle  with  the  strong 
before  she  gives  him  up  as  hopeless.  Little  Tookhees 
evidently  belonged  to  this  class,  so  before  leaving  I 
undertook  the  task  of  teaching  him  fear,  which  had 
evidently  been  too  much  for  Nature  and  his  own 
mother.  I  pinched  him  a  few  times,  hooting  like  an 
owl  as  I  did  so,  —  a  startling  process,  which  sent  the 
other  mice  diving  like  brown  streaks  to  cover.  Then 
I  waved  a  branch  over  him,  like  a  hawk's  wing,  at 
the  same  time  flipping  him  end  over  end,  shaking 
him  up  terribly.  Then  again,  when  he  appeared  with 
a  new  light  dawning  in  his  eyes,  the  light  of  fear,  I 
would  set  a  stick  to  wiggling  like  a  creeping  fox 
among  the  ferns  and  switch  him  sharply  with  a  hem- 
lock tip.  It  was  a  hard  lesson,  but  he  learned  it  after 
a  few  days.  And  before  I  finished  the  teaching,  not 
a  mouse  would  come  to  my  table,  no  matter  how 


22 


Secrets  of  the  Woods 


persuasively  I  squeaked.  They  would  dart  about  in 
the  twilight  as  of  yore,  but  the  first  whish  of  my  stick 
sent  them  all  back  to  cover  on  the  instant. 

That  was  their  stern  yet  practical  preparation  for 
the  robber  horde  that  would  soon  be  prowling  over 
my  camping  ground.  Then  a  stealthy  movement 
among  the  ferns  or  the  sweep  of  a  shadow  among  the 
twilight  shadows  would  mean  a  very  different  thing 
from  wriggling  stick  and  waving  hemlock  tip.  Snap 
and  swoop,  and  teeth  and  claws, — jump  for  your 
life  and  find  out  afterwards.  That  is  the  rule  for  a 
wise  wood  mouse.  So  I  said  good-by,  and  left  them 
to  take  care  of  themselves  in  the  wilderness. 


day  in  the  wilderness,  as  my  canoe  was 
sweeping  down  a  beautiful  stretch  of  river, 
I  noticed  a  little  path  leading  through  the 
water 'grass,  at  right  angles  to  the  stream's  course. 
Swinging  my  canoe  up  to  it,  I  found  what  seemed 
to  be  a  landing  place  for  the  wood  folk  on  their  river 
journeyings.  The  sedges,  which  stood  thickly  all 
about,  were  here  bent  inward,  making  a  shiny  green 
channel  from  the  river. 

On  the  muddy  shore  were  many  tracks  of  mink  and 
muskrat  and  otter.  Here  a  big  moose  had  stood 
drinking ;  and  there  a  beaver  had  cut  the  grass  and 
made  a  little  mud  pie,  in  the  middle  of  which  was  a 
bit  of  musk  scenting  the  whole  neighborhood.  It  was 

23 


24  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

done  last  night,  for  the  marks  of  his  fore  paws  still 
showed  plainly  where  he  had  patted  his  pie  smooth 
ere  he  went  away. 

But  the  spot  was  more  than  a  landing  place ;  a  path 
went  up  the  bank  into  the  woods,  as  faint  as  the  green 
waterway  among  the  sedges.  Tall  ferns  bent  over  to 
hide  it;  rank  grasses  that  had  been  softly  brushed 
aside  tried  their  best  to  look  natural;  the  alders 
waved  their  branches  thickly,  saying :  There  is  no  way 
here.  But  there  it  was,  a  path  for  the  wood  folk. 
And  when  I  followed  it  into  the  shade  and  silence  of 
the  woods,  the  first  mossy  log  that  lay  across  it  was 
worn  smooth  by  the  passage  of  many  little  feet. 

As  I  came  back,  Simmo's  canoe  glided  into  sight 
and  I  waved  him  to  shore.  The  light  birch  swung  up 
beside  mine,  a  deep  water-dimple  just  under  the  curl 
of  its  bow,  and  a  musical  ripple  like  the  gurgle  of 
water  by  a  mossy  stone  —  that  was  the  only  sound. 

"  What  means  this  path,  Simmo  ?  " 

His  keen  eyes  took  in  everything  at  a  glance,  the 
wavy  waterway,  the  tracks,  the  faint  path  to  the  alders. 
There  was  a  look  of  surprise  in  his  face  that  I  had 
blundered  onto  a  discovery  which  he  had  looked  for 
many  times  in  vain,  his  traps  on  his  back. 

"  Das  a  portash,"  he  said  simply. 

"  A  portage !      But  who  made  a  portage  here  ?  " 


A  Wilderness  Byway  25 

"Well,  Musquash  he  prob'ly  make-um  first.  Den 
beaver,  den  h'otter,  den  everybody  in  hurry  he  make-um. 
You  see,  river  make  big  bend  here.  Portash  go  'cross ; 
save  time,  jus'  same  Indian  portash." 

That  was  the  first  of  a  dozen  such  paths  that  I  have 
since  found  cutting  across  the  bends  of  wilderness 
rivers,  —  the  wood  folk's  way  of  saving  time  on  a  jour- 
ney. I  left  Simmo  to  go  on  down  the  river,  while  I 
followed  the  little  byway  curiously.  There  is  nothing 
more  fascinating  in  the  woods  than  to  go  on  the  track 
of  the  wild  things  and  see  what  they  have  been  doing. 

But  alas !  mine  were  not  the  first  human  feet  that  had 
taken  the  journey.  Halfway  across,  at  a  point  where 
the  path  ran  over  a  little  brook,  I  found  a  deadfall  set 
squarely  in  the  way  of  unwary  feet.  It  was  different 
from  any  I  had  ever  seen,  and  was  made  like  this : 


26  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

That  tiny  stick  (trigger,  the  trappers  call  it)  with  its 
end  resting  in  air  three  inches  above  the  bed  log,  just 
the  right  height  so  that  a  beaver  or  an  otter  would 
naturally  put  his  foot  on  it  in  crossing,  looks  innocent 
enough.  But  if  you  look  sharply  you  will  see  that  if 
it  were  pressed  down  ever  so  little  it  would  instantly 
release  the  bent  stick  that  holds  the  fall-log,  and  bring 
the  deadly  thing  down  with  crushing  force  across  the 
back  of  any  animal  beneath. 

Such  are  the  pitfalls  that  lie,  athwart  the  way  of 
Keeonekh  the  otter,  when  he  goes  a-courting  and 
uses  Musquash's  portage  to  shorten  his  journey. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  portage  I  waited  for 
Simmo  to  come  round  the  bend,  and  took  him  back 
to  see  the  work,  denouncing  the  heartless  careless- 
ness of  the  trapper  who  had  gone  away  in  the 
spring  and  left  an  unsprung  deadfall  as  a  menace 
to  the  wild  things.  At  the  first  glance  he  pro- 
nounced it  an  otter  trap.  Then  the  fear  and 
wonder  swept  into  his  face,  and  the  questions 
into  mine. 

"  Das  Noel  Waby's  trap.  Nobody  else  make-um 
tukpeel  stick  like  dat,"  he  said  at  last. 

Then  I  understood.  Noel  Waby  had  gone  up  river 
trapping  in  the  spring,  and  had  never  come  back ;  nor 
any  word  to  tell  how  death  met  him. 


A  Wilderness  Byway  27 

I  stooped  down  to  examine  the  trap  with  greater 
interest.  On  the  underside  of  the  fall-log  I  found 
some  long  hairs  still  clinging  in  the  crevices  of  the 
rough  bark.  They  belonged  to  the  outer  waterproof 
coat  with  which  Keeonekh  keeps  his  fur  dry.  One 
otter  at  least  had  been  caught  here,  and  the  trap  reset 
But  some  sense  of  danger,  some  old  scent  of  blood  or 
subtle  warning  clung  to  the  spot,  and  no  other  crea- 
ture had  crossed  the  bed  log,  though  hundreds  must 
have  passed  that  way  since  the  old  Indian  reset  his 
trap,  and  strode  away  with  the  dead  otter  across  his 
shoulders. 

What  was  it  in  the  air?  What  sense  of  fear 
brooded  here  and  whispered  in  the  alder  leaves  and 
tinkled  in  the  brook  ?  Simmo  grew  uneasy  and  hur- 
ried away.  He  was  like  the  wood  folk.  But  I  sat 
down  on  a  great  log  that  the  spring  floods  had  driven 
in  through  the  alders  to  feel  the  meaning  of  the  place, 
if  possible,  and  to  have  the  vast  sweet  solitude  all  to 
myself  for  a  little  while. 

A  faint  stir  on  my  left,  and  another!  Then  up 
the  path,  twisting  and  gliding,  came  Keeonekh,  the 
first  otter  that  I  had  ever  seen  in  the  wilderness. 
Where  the  sun  flickered  in  through  the  alder  leaves 
it  glinted  brightly  on  the  shiny  outer  hairs  of  his 
rough  coat.  As  he  went  his  nose  worked  constantly, 


28  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

going  far  ahead  of  his  bright  little  eyes  to  tell  him 
what  was  in  the  path. 

I  was  sitting  very  still,  some  distance  to  one  side, 
and  he  did  not  see  me.  Near  old  Noel's  deadfall  he 
paused  an  instant  with  raised  head,  in  the  curious 
snake-like  attitude  that  all  the  weasels  take  when 
watching.  Then  he  glided  round  the  end  of  the 
trap,  and  disappeared  down  the  portage. 

When  he  was  gone  I  stole  out  to  examine  his 
tracks.  Then  I  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  the  old 
path  near  the  deadfall  was  getting  moss-grown ;  a  faint 
new  path  began  to  show  among  the  alders.  Some 
warning  was  there  in  the  trap,  and  with  cunning 
instinct  all  the  wood  dwellers  turned  aside,  giving  a 
wide  berth  to  what  they  felt  was  dangerous  but  could 
not  understand.  The  new  path  joined  the  old  again, 
beyond  the  brook,  and  followed  it  straight  to  the 
river. 

Again  I  examined  the  deadfall  carefully,  but  of 
course  I  found  nothing.  That  is  a  matter  of  instinct, 
not  of  eyes  and  ears,  and  it  is  past  finding  out.  Then 
I  went  away  for  good,  after  driving  a  ring  of  stout 
stakes  all  about  the  trap  to  keep  heedless  little  feet 
out  of  it.  But  I  left  it  unsprung,  just  as  it  was,  a 
rude  tribute  of  remembrance  to  Keeonekh  and  the 
lost  Indian. 


HEREVER  you  find  Keeonekh  the  otter 
you  find  three  other  things:  wildness,  beauty, 
and  running  water  that  no  winter  can  freeze. 
There  is  also  good  fishing,  but  that  will  profit 
you  little ;  for  after  Keeonekh  has  harried  a  pool  it  is 
useless  to  cast  your  fly  or  minnow  there.  The  largest 
fish  has  disappeared  —  you  will  find  his  bones  and  a 
fin  or  two  on  the  ice  or  the  nearest  bank  —  and  the 
little  fish  are  still  in  hiding  after  their  fright. 

Conversely,  wherever  you  find  the  three  elements 
mentioned  you  will  also  find  Keeonekh,  if  your  eyes 
know  how  to  read  the  signs  aright.  Even  in  places 
near  the  towns,  where  no  otter  has  been  seen  for  gen- 
erations, they  are  still  to  be  found  leading  their  shy 

wild  life,  so  familiar  with  every  sight  and  sound  of 

29 


30  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

danger  that  no  eye  of  the  many  that  pass  by  ever  sees 
them.  No  animal  has  been  more  persistently  trapped 
and  hunted  for  the  valuable  fur  that  he  bears;  but 
Keeonekh  is  hard  to  catch  and  quick  to  learn.  When 
a  family  have  all  been  caught  or  driven  away  from  a 
favorite  stream,  another  otter  speedily  finds  the  spot  in 
some  of  his  winter  wanderings  after  better  fishing,  and, 
knowing  well  from  the  signs  that  others  of  his  race 
have  paid  the  sad  penalty  for  heedlessness,  he  settles 
down  there  with  greater  watchfulness,  and  enjoys  his 
fisherman's  luck. 

In  the  spring  he  brings  a  mate  to  share  his  rich 
living.  Soon  a  family  of  young  otters  go  a-fishing  in 
the  best  pools  and  explore  the  stream  for  miles  up 
and  down.  But  so  shy  and  wild  and  quick  to  hide 
are  they  that  the  trout  fishermen  who  follow  the  river, 
and  the  ice  fishermen  who  set  their  tilt-ups  in  the 
pond  below,  and  the  children  who  gather  cowslips  in 
the  spring  have  no  suspicion  that  the  original  pro- 
prietors of  the  stream  are  still  on  the  spot,  jealously 
watching  and  resenting  every  intrusion. 

Occasionally  the  wood  choppers  cross  an  unknown 
trail  in  the  snow,  a  heavy  trail,  with  long,  sliding, 
down-hill  plunges  which  look  as  if  a  log  had  been 
dragged  along.  But  they  too  go  their  way,  wonder- 
ing a  bit  at  the  queer  things  that  live  in  the  woods, 


Keeonekh  the  Fisherman  31 

but  not  understanding  the  plain  records  that  the  queer 
things  leave  behind  them.  Did  they  but  follow  far 
enough  they  would  find  the  end  of  the  trail  in  open 
water,  and  on  the  ice  beyond  the  signs  of  Keeonekh's 
fishing. 

I  remember  one  otter  family  whose  den  I  found, 
when  a  boy,  on  a  stream  between  two  ponds  within 
three  miles  of  the  town  house.  Yet  the  oldest  hunter 
could  barely  remember  the  time  when  the  last  otter 
had  been  caught  or  seen  in  the  county. 

I  was  sitting  very  still  in  the  bushes  on  the  bank, 
one  day  in  spring,  watching  for  a  wood  duck.  Wood 
duck  lived  there,  but  the  cover  was  so  thick  that  I 
could  never  surprise  them.  They  always  heard  me 
coming  and  were  off,  giving  me  only  vanishing 
glimpses  among  the  trees,  or  else  quietly  hiding  until 
I  went  by.  So  the  only  way  to  see  them — a  beautiful 
sight  they  were  —  was  to  sit  still  in  hiding,  for  hours 
if  need  be,  until  they  came  gliding  by,  all  unconscious 
of  the  watcher. 

As  I  waited  a  large  animal  came  swiftly  up  stream, 
just  his  head  visible,  with  a  long  tail  trailing  behind. 
He  was  swimming  powerfully,  steadily,  straight  as  a 
string ;  but,  as  I  noted  with  wonder,  he  made  no  ripple 
whatever,  sliding  through  -the  water  as  if  greased  from 
nose  to  tail.  Just  above  me  he  dived,  and  I  did  not 


32  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

see  him  again,  though  I  watched  up  and  down  stream 
breathlessly  for  him  to  reappear. 

I  had  never  seen  such  an  animal  before,  but  I  knew 
somehow  that  it  was  an  otter,  and  I  drew  back  into 
better  hiding  with  the  hope  of  seeing  the  rare  creature 
again.  Presently  another  otter  appeared,  coming  up 
stream  and  disappearing  in  exactly  the  same  way  as 
the  first.  But  though  I  stayed  all  the  afternoon  I 
saw  nothing  more. 

After  that  I  haunted  the  spot  every  time  I  could 
get  away,  creeping  down  to  the  river  bank  and  lying  in 
hiding  hours  long  at  a  stretch ;  for  I  knew  now  that 
the  otters  lived  there,  and  they  gave  me  many  glimpses 
of  a  life  I  had  never  seen  before. 

Soon  I  found  their  den.  It  was  in  a  bank  oppo- 
site my  hiding  place,  and  the  entrance  was  among  the 
roots  of  a  great  tree,  under  water,  where  no  one  could 
have  possibly  found  it  if  the  otters  had  not  themselves 
shown  the  way.  In  their  approach  they  always  dived 
while  yet  well  out  in  the  stream,  and  so  entered  their 
door  unseen.  When  they  came  out  they  were  quite 
as  careful,  always  swimming  some  distance  under 
water  before  coming  to  the  surface.  It  was  several 
days  before  my  eye  could  trace  surely  the  faint  undu- 
lation of  the  water  above  them,  and  so  follow  their 
course  to  their  doorway.  Had  not  the  water  been 


Keeonekh  the  Fisherman  33 

shallow  I  should  never  have  found  it ;  for  they  are  the 
most  wonderful  of  swimmers,  making  no  ripple  on  the 
surface,  and  not  half  the  disturbance  below  it  that  a 
fish  of  the  same  weight  makes. 

Those  were  among  the  happiest  watching  hours 
that  I  have  ever  spent  in  the  woods.  The  game  was 
so  large,  so  utterly  unexpected;  and  I  had  the  won- 
derful discovery  all  to  myself.  Not  one  of  the  half 
dozen  boys  and  men  who  occasionally,  when  the  fever 
seized  them,  trapped  muskrat  in  the  big  meadow,  a 
mile  below,  or  the  rare  mink  that  hunted  frogs  in  the 
brook,  had  any  suspicion  that  such  splendid  fur  was 
to  be  had  for  the  hunting. 

Sometimes  a  whole  afternoon  would  go  slowly  by, 
filled  with  the  sounds  and  sweet  smells  of  the  woods, 
and  not  a  ripple  would  break  the  dimples  of  the  stream 
before  me.  But  when,  one  late  afternoon,  just  as  the 
pines  across  the  stream  began  to  darken  against  the 
western  light,  a  string  of  silver  bubbles  shot  across 
the  stream  and  a  big  otter  rose  to  the  surface  with  a 
pickerel  in  his  mouth,  all  the  watching  that  had  not 
well  repaid  itself  was  swept  out  of  the  reckoning.  He 
came  swiftly  towards  me,  put  his  fore  paws  against  the 
bank,  gave  a  wriggling  jump,  —  and  there  he  was,  not 
twenty  feet  away,  holding  the  pickerel  down  with  his 
fore  paws,  his  back  arched"  like  a  frightened  cat,  and  a 


34  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

tiny  stream  of  water  trickling  down  from  the  tip  of  his 
heavy  pointed  tail,  as  he  ate  his  fish  with  immense 
relish. 

Years  afterward,  hundreds  of  miles  away  on  the 
Dungarvon,  in  the  heart  of  the  wilderness,  every 
detail  of  the  scene  came  back  to  me  again.  I  was 
standing  on  snowshoes,  looking  out  over  the  frozen 
river,  when  Keeonekh  appeared  in  an  open  pool  with 
a  trout  in  his  mouth.  He  broke  his  way,  with  a  clatter- 
ing tinkle  of  winter  bells,  through  the  thin  edge  of  ice, 
put  his  paws  against  the  heavy  snow  ice,  threw  himself 
out  with  the  same  wriggling  jump,  and  ate  with  his 
back  arched  —  just  as  I  had  seen  him  years  before. 

This  curious  way  of  eating  is,  I  think,  characteristic 
of  all  otters ;  certainly  of  those  that  I  have  been  for- 
tunate enough  to  see.  Why  they  do  it  is  more  than 
I  know;  but  it  must  be  uncomfortable  for  every 
mouthful  —  full  of  fish  bones,  too  —  to  slide  uphill 
to  one's  stomach.  Perhaps  it  is  mere  habit,  which 
shows  in  the  arched  backs  of  all  the  weasel  family. 
Perhaps  it  is  to  frighten  any  enemy  that  may  approach 
unawares  while  Keeonekh  is  eating,  just  as  an  owl, 
when  feeding  on  the  ground,  bristles  up  all  his  feathers 
so  as  to  look  as  big  as  possible. 

But  my  first  otter  was  too  keen-scented  to  remain 
long  so  near  a  concealed  enemy.  Suddenly  he  stopped 


Keeonekh  the  Fisherman  35 

eating  and  turned  his  head  in  my  direction.  I  could 
see  his  nostrils  twitching  as  the  wind  gave  him  its 
message.  Then  he  left  his  fish,  glided  into  the  stream 
as  noiselessly  as  the  brook  entered  it  below  him,  and 
disappeared  without  leaving  a  single  wavelet  to  show 
where  he  had  gone  down. 

When  the  young  otters  appeared,  there  was  one  of 
the  most  interesting  lessons  to  be  seen  in  the  woods. 
Though  Keeonekh  loves  the  water  and  lives  in  it 
more  than  half  the  time,  his  little  ones  are  afraid  of 
it  as  so  many  kittens.  If  left  to  themselves  they 
would  undoubtedly  go  off  for  a  hunting  life,  follow- 
ing the  old  family  instinct ;  for  fishing  is  an  acquired 
habit  of  the  otters,  and  so  the  fishing  instinct  cannot 
yet  be  transmitted  to  the  little  ones.  That  will  take 
many  generations.  Meanwhile  the  little  Keeonekhs 
must  be  taught  to  swim. 

One  day  the  mother-otter  appeared  on  the  bank 
among  the  roots  of  the  great  tree  under  which  was 
their  secret  doorway.  That  was  surprising,  for  up  to 
this  time  both  otters  had  always  approached  it  from 
the  river,  and  were  never  seen  on  the  bank  near  their 
den.  She  appeared  to  be  digging,  but  was  immensely 
cautious  about  it,  looking,  listening,  sniffing  contin- 
ually. I  had  never  gone  near  the  place  for  fear  of 
frightening  them  away ;  and  it  was  months  afterward, 


36  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

when  the  den  was  deserted,  before  I  examined  it  to 
understand  just  what  she  was  doing.  Then  I  found 
that  she  had  made  another  doorway  from  her  den  lead- 
ing out  to  the  bank.  She  had  selected  the  spot  with 
wonderful  cunning,  —  a  hollow  under  a  great  root  that 
would  never  be  noticed,  —  and  she  dug  from  inside, 
carrying  the  earth  down  to  the  river  bottom,  so  that 
there  should  be  nothing  about  the  tree  to  indicate  the 
haunt  of  an  animal. 

Long  afterwards,  when  I  had  grown  better  acquainted 
with  Keeonekh's  ways  from  much  watching,  I  under- 
stood the  meaning  of  all  this.  She  was  simply 
making  a  safe  way  out  and  in  for  the  little  ones, 
who  were  afraid  of  the  water.  Had  she  taken  or 
driven  them  out  of  her  own  entrance  under  the 
river,  they  might  easily  have  drowned  ere  they 
reached  the  surface. 

When  the  entrance  was  all  ready  she  disappeared, 
but  I  have  no  doubt  she  was  just  inside,  watching  to 
be  sure  the  coast  was  clear.  Slowly  her  head  and 
neck  appeared  till  they  showed  clear  of  the  black 
roots.  She  turned  her  nose  up  stream  —  nothing  in 
the  wind.  Eyes  and  ears  searched  below  —  nothing 
harmful  there.  Then  she  came  out,  and  after  her 
toddled  two  little  otters,  full  of  wonder  at  the  big 
bright  world,  full  of  fear  at  the  river. 


Keeonekh  the  Fisherman  37 

There  was  no  play  at  first,  only  wonder  and  investi- 
gation. Caution  was  born  in  them ;  they  put  their 
little  feet  down  as  if  treading  on  eggs,  and  they  sniffed 
every  bush  before  going  behind  it.  And  the  old 
mother  noted  their  cunning  with  satisfaction  while 
her  own  nose  and  ears  watched  far  away. 

The  outing  was  all  too  short ;  some  uneasiness  was 
in  the  air  down  stream.  Suddenly  she  rose  from 
where  she  was  lying,  and  the  little  ones,  as  if  com- 
manded, tumbled  back  into  the  den.  In  a  moment 
she  had  glided  after  them,  and  the  bank  was  deserted. 
It  was  fully  ten  minutes  before  my  untrained  ears 
caught  faint  sounds,  which  were  not  of  the  woods, 
coming  up  stream;  and  longer  than  that  before  two 
men  with  fish  poles  appeared,  making  their  slow  way 
to  the  pond  above.  They  passed  almost  over  the  den 
and  disappeared,  all  unconscious  of  beast  or  man  that 
wished  them  elsewhere,  resenting  their  noisy  passage 
through  the  solitudes.  But  the  otters  did  not  come 
out  again,  though  I  watched  till  nearly  dark. 

It  was  a  week  before  I  saw  them  again,  and  some 
good  teaching  had  evidently  been  done  in  the  mean- 
time ;  for  all  fear  of  the  river  was  gone.  They  toddled 
out  as  before,  at  the  same  hour  in  the  afternoon,  and 
went  straight  to  the  bank.  There  the  mother  lay 
down,  and  the  little  ones,  as  if  enjoying  the  frolic, 


38  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

clambered  up  to  her  back.  Whereupon  she  slid  into 
the  stream  and  swam  slowly  about  with  the  little 
Keeonekhs  clinging  to  her  desperately,  as  if  humpty- 
dumpty  had  been  played  on  them  before,  and  might  be 
repeated  any  moment. 

I  understood  their  air  of  anxious  expectation  a 
moment  later,  when  Mother  Otter  dived  like  a  flash 
from  under  them,  leaving  them  to  make  their  own  way 
in  the  water.  They  began  to  swim  naturally  enough, 
but  the  fear  of  the  new  element  was  still  upon  them. 
The  moment  old  Mother  Otter  appeared  they  made  for 
her  whimpering,  but  she  dived  again  and  again,  or 
moved  slowly  away,  and  so  kept  them  swimming. 
After  a  little  they  seemed  to  tire  and  lose  courage. 
Her  eyes  saw  it  quicker  than  mine,  and  she  glided 
between  them.  Both  little  ones  turned  in  at  the  same 
instant  and  found  a  resting  place  on  her  back.  So 
she  brought  them  carefully  to  land  again,  and  in  a 
few  moments  they  were  all  rolling  about  in  the  dry 
leaves  like  so  many  puppies. 

I  must  confess  here  that,  besides  the  boy's  wonder 
in  watching  the  wild  things,  another  interest  brought 
me  to  the  river  bank  and  kept  me  studying  Keeonekh's 
ways.  Father  Otter  was  a  big  fellow,  —  enormous  he 
seemed  to  me,  thinking  of  my  mink  skins,  —  and  occa- 
sionally, when  his  rich  coat  glinted  in  the  sunshine,  I 


Keeonekh  the  Fisherman  39 

was  thinking  what  a  famous  cap  it  would  make  for 
the  winter  woods,  or  for  coasting  on  moonshiny  nights. 
More  often  I  was  thinking  what  famous  things  a  boy 
could  buy  for  the  fourteen  dollars,  at  least,  which  his 
pelt  would  bring  in  the  open  market. 

The  first  Saturday  after  I  saw  him  I  prepared  a 
board,  ten  times  bigger  than  a  mink-stretcher,  and 
tapered  one  end  to  a  round  point,  and  split  it,  and  made 
a  wedge,  and  smoothed  it  all  down,  and  hid  it  away 
—  to  stretch  the  big  otter's  skin  upon  when  I  should 
catch  him. 

When  November  came,  and  fur  was  prime,  I  carried 
down  a  half-bushel  basket  of  heads  and  stuff  from  the 
fish  market,  and  piled  them  up  temptingly  on  the 
bank,  above  a  little  water  path,  in  a  lonely  spot  by 
the  river.  At  the  lower  end  of  the  path,  where  it 
came  out  of  the  water,  I  set  a  trap,  my  biggest  one, 
with  a  famous  grip  for  skunks  and  woodchucks.  But 
the  fish  rotted  away,  as  did  also  another  basketful  in 
another  place.  Whatever  was  eaten  went  to  the  crows 
and  mink.  Keeonekh  disdained  it. 

Then  I  set  the  trap  in  some  water  (to  kill  the  smell 
of  it)  on  a  game  path  among  some  swamp  alders,  at  a 
bend  of  the  river  where  nobody  ever  came  and  where 
I  had  found  Keeonekh's  tracks.  The  next  night  he 
walked  into  it.  But  the  trap  that  was  sure  grip  for 


40  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

woodchucks  was  a  plaything  for  Keeonekh's  strength. 
He  wrenched  his  foot  out  of  it,  leaving  me  only  a 
few  glistening  hairs  —  which  was  all  I  ever  caught 
of  him. 

Years  afterward,  when  I  found  old  Noel's  trap  on 
Keeonekh's  portage,  I  asked  Simmo  why  no  bait 
had  been  used. 

"  No  good  use-um  bait,"  he  said,  "Keeonekh  like-um 
fresh  fish,  an'  catch-um  self  all  he  want."  And  that 
is  true.  Except  in  starvation  times,  when  even  the 
pools  are  frozen,  or  the  fish  die  from  one  of  their 
mysterious  epidemics,  Keeonekh  turns  up  his  nose 
at  any  bait.  If  a  bit  of  castor  is  put  in  a  split  stick, 
he  will  turn  aside,  like  all  the  fur-bearers,  to  see  what 
this  strange  smell  is.  But  if  you  would  toll  him  with 
a  bait,  you  must  fasten  a  fish  in  the  water  in  such  a 
way  that  it  seems  alive  as  the  current  wiggles  it,  else 
Keeonekh  will  never  think  it  worthy  of  his  catching. 

The  den  in  the  river  bank  was  never  disturbed,  and 
the  following  year  another  litter  was  raised  there. 
With  characteristic  cunning — a  cunning  which  grows 
keener  and  keener  in  the  neighborhood  of  civilization 
—  the  mother-otter  filled  up  the  land  entrance  among 
the  roots  with  earth  and  driftweed,  using  only  the 
doorway  under  water  until  it  was  time  for  the  cubs 
to  come  out  into  the  world  again. 


Keeonekh  the  Fisherman  41 

Of  all  the  creatures  of  the  wilderness  Keeonekh  is 
the  most  richly  gifted,  and  his  ways,  could  we  but 
search  them  out,  would  furnish  a  most  interesting 
chapter.  Every  journey  he  takes,  whether  by  land  or 
water,  is  full  of  unknown  traits  and  tricks ;  but  unfor- 
tunately no  one  ever  sees  him  doing  things,  and  most 
of  his  ways  are  yet  to  be  found  out.  You  see  a  head 
holding  swiftly  across  a  wilderness  lake,  or  coming  to 


meet  your  canoe  on  the  streams  ;  then,  as  you  follow 
eagerly,  a  swirl  and  he  is  gone.  When  he  comes  up 
again  he  will  watch  you  so  much  more  keenly  than 
you  can  possibly  watch  him  that  you  learn  little  about 
him,  except  how  shy  he  is.  Even  the  trappers  who 
make  a  business  of  catching  him,  and  with  whom  I 
have  often  talked,  know  almost  nothing  of  Keeonekh, 
except  where  to  set  their  traps  for  him  living  and  how 
to  care  for  his  skin  when  he  is  dead. 


42  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

Once  I  saw  him  fishing  in  a  curious  way.  It  was 
winter,  on  a  wilderness  stream  flowing  into  the  Dun- 
garvon.  There  had  been  a  fall  of  dry  snow  that  still 
lay  deep  and  powdery  over  all  the  woods,  too  light  to 
settle  or  crust.  At  every  step  one  had  to  lift  a  shovel- 
ful of  the  stuff  on  the  point  of  his  snowshoe ;  and  I 
was  tired  out,  following  some  caribou  that  wandered 
like  plover  in  the  rain. 

Just  below  me  was  a  deep  open  pool  surrounded  by 
double  fringes  of  ice.  Early  in  the  winter,  while  the 
stream  was  higher,  the  white  ice  had  formed  thickly 
on  the  river  wherever  the  current  was  not  too  swift 
for  freezing.  Then  the  stream  fell,  and  a  shelf  of 
new  black  ice  formed  at  the  water's  level,  eighteen 
inches  or  more  below  the  first  ice,  some  of  which  still 
clung  to  the  banks,  reaching  out  in  places  two  or 
three  feet  and  forming  dark  caverns  with  the  ice 
below.  Both  shelves  dipped  towards  the  water,  form- 
ing a  gentle  incline  all  about  the  edges  of  the  open 
places. 

A  string  of  silver  bubbles  shooting  across  the  black 
pool  at  my  feet  roused  me  out  of  a  drowsy  weariness. 
There  it  was  again,  a  rippling  wave  across  the  pool, 
which  rose  to  the  surface  a  moment  later  in  a  hundred 
bubbles,  tinkling  like  tiny  bells  as  they  broke  in  the 
keen  air.  Two  or  three  times  I  saw  it  with  growing 


Keeonekh  the  Fisherman  43 

wonder.  Then  something  stirred  under  the  shelf  of 
ice  across  the  pool.  An  otter  slid  into  the  water;  the 
rippling  wave  shot  across  again ;  the  bubbles  broke  at 
the  surface;  'and  I  knew  that  he  was  sitting  under  the 
white  ice  below  me,  not  twenty  feet  away. 

A  whole  family  of  otters,  three  or  four  of  them, 
were  fishing  there  at  my  feet  in  utter  unconsciousness. 
The  discovery  took  my  breath  away.  Every  little 
while  the  bubbles  would  shoot  across  from  my  side, 
and  watching  sharply  I  would  see  Keeonekh  slide  out 
upon  the  lower  shelf  of  ice  on  the  other  side  and 
crouch  there  in  the  gloom,  with  back  humped  against 
the  ice  above  him,  eating  his  catch.  The  fish  they 
caught  were  all  small  evidently,  for  after  a  few  minutes 
he  would  throw  himself  flat  on  the  ice,  slide  down  the 
incline  into  the  water,  making  no  splash  or  disturbance 
as  he  entered,  and  the  string  of  bubbles  would  shoot 
across  to  my  side  again. 

For  a  full  hour  I  watched  them  breathlessly,  mar- 
veling at  their  skill.  A  small  fish  is  nimble  game  to 
follow  and  catch  in  his  own  element.  But  at  every 
slide  Keeonekh  did  it.  Sometimes  the  rippling  wave 
would  shoot  all  over  the  pool,  and  the  bubbles  break 
in  a  wild  tangle  as  the  fish  darted  and  doubled  below, 
with  the  otter  after  him.  But  it  always  ended  the 
same  way.  Keeonekh  would  slide  out  upon  the  ice 


44  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

shelf,  and  hump  his  back,  and  begin  to  eat  almost 
before  the  last  bubble  had  tinkled  behind  him. 

Curiously  enough,  the  rule  of  the  salmon  fishermen 
prevailed  here  in  the  wilderness:  no  two  rods  shall 
whip  the  same  pool  at  the  same  time.  I  would  see 
an  otter  lying  ready  on  the  ice,  evidently  waiting  for 
the  chase  to  end.  Then,  as  another  otter  slid  out 
beside  him  with  his  fish,  in  he  would  go  like  a  flash 
and  take  his  turn.  For  a  while  the  pool  was  a  lively 
place;  the  bubbles  had  no  rest.  Then  the  plunges 
grew  fewer  and  fewer,  and  the  otters  all  disappeared 
into  the  ice  caverns. 

What  became  of  them  I  could  not  make  out;  and  I 
was  too  chilled  to  watch  longer.  Above  and  below  the 
pool  the  stream  was  frozen  for  a  distance ;  then  there 
was  more  open  water  and  more  fishing.  Whether 
they  followed  along  the  bank  under  cover  of  the  ice 
to  other  pools,  or  simply  slept  where  they  were  till 
hungry  again,  I  never  found  out.  Certainly  they  had 
taken  up  their  abode  in  an  ideal  spot,  and  would  not 
leave  it  willingly.  The  open  pools  gave  excellent 
fishing,  and  the  upper  ice  shelf  protected  them  per- 
fectly from  all  enemies. 

Once,  a  week  later,  I  left  the  caribou  and  came 
back  to  the  spot  to  watch  awhile ;  but  the  place  was 
deserted.  The  black  water  gurgled  and  dimpled 


With  back  humped  against  the  ice  above  him,  eating  his  catch 


Keeonekh  the  Fisherman  45 

across  the  pool,  and  slipped  away  silently  under  the 
lower  edge  of  ice  undisturbed  by  strings  of  silver 
bubbles.  The  ice  caverns  were  all  dark  and  silent. 
The  mink  had  stolen  the  fish  heads,  and  there  was 
no  trace  anywhere  to  show  that  it  was  Keeonekh's 
banquet  hall. 

The  swimming  power  of  an  otter,  which  was  so  evi- 
dent there  in  the  winter  pool,  is  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  things  in  nature.  All  other  animals  and 
birds,  and  even  the  best  modeled  of  modern  boats, 
leave  more  or  less  wake  behind  them  when  moving 
through  the  water.  But  Keeonekh  leaves  no  more 
trail  than  a  fish.  This  is  partly  because  he  keeps  his 
body  well  submerged  when  swimming,  partly  because 
of  the  strong,  deep,  even  stroke  that  drives  him  for- 
ward. Sometimes  I  have  wondered  if  the  outer  hairs 
of  his  coat — the  waterproof  covering  that  keeps  his 
fur  dry,  no  matter  how  long  he  swims — are  not  better 
oiled  than  in  other  animals,  which  might  account  for 
the  lack  of  ripple.  I  have  seen  him  go  down  suddenly 
and  leave  absolutely  no  break  in  the  surface  to  show 
where  he  was.  When  sliding  also,  plunging  down  a 
twenty-foot  clay  bank,  he  enters  the  water  with  an 
astonishing  lack  of  noise  or  disturbance  of  any  kind. 

In  swimming  at  the  surface  he  seems  to  use  all  four 
feet,  like  other  animals.  But  below  the  surface,  when 


46  Secrets  of  t fie  Woods 

chasing  fish,  he  uses  only  the  fore  paws.  The  hind 
legs  then  stretch  straight  out  behind  and  are  used, 
with  the  heavy  tail,  for  a  great  rudder.  By  this  means 
he  turns  and  doubles  like  a  flash,  following  surely  the 
swift  dartings  of  frightened  trout,  and  beating  them  by 
sheer  speed  and  nimbleness. 

When  fishing  a  pool  he  always  hunts  outward  from 
the  center,  driving  the  fish  towards  the  bank,  keeping 
himself  within  their  circlings,  and  so  having  the 
immense  advantage  of  the  shorter  line  in  heading  off 
his  game.  The  fish  are  seized  as  they  crouch  against 
the  bank  for  protection,  or  try  to  dart  out  past  him. 
Large  fish  are  frequently  caught  from  behind  as  they 
lie  resting  in  their  spring-holes.  So  swift  and  noise- 
less is  his  approach  that  they  are  seized  before  they 
become  aware  of  danger. 

This  swimming  power  of  Keeonekh  is  all  the  more 
astonishing  when  one  remembers  that  he  is  distinc- 
tively a  land  animal,  with  none  of  the  special  endow- 
ments of  the  seal,  who  is  his  only  rival  as  a  fisherman. 
Nature  undoubtedly  intended  him  to  get  his  living,  as 
the  other  members  of  his  large  family  do,  by  hunting 
in  the  woods,  and  endowed  him  accordingly.  He  is  a 
strong  runner,  a  good  climber,  a  patient  tireless  hunter, 
and  his  nose  is  keen  as  a  brier.  With  a  little  practice 
he  could  again  get  his  living  by  hunting,  as  his 


Keeonekh  the  Fisherman  47 

ancestors  did.  If  squirrels  and  rats  and  rabbits  were 
too  nimble  at  first,  there  are  plenty  of  musquash  to  be 
caught,  and  he  need  not  stop  at  a  fawn  or  a  sheep,  for 
he  is  enormously  strong,  and  the  grip  of  his  jaws  is  not 
to  be  loosened. 

In  severe  winters,  when  fish  are  scarce  or  his  pools 
frozen  over,  he  takes  to  the  woods  boldly  and  shows 
himself  a  master  at  hunting  craft.  But  he  likes  fish, 
and  likes  the  water,  and  for  many  generations  now 
has  been  simply  a  fisherman,  with  many  of  the  quiet 
lovable  traits  that  belong  to  fishermen  in  general. 

That  is  one  thing  to  give  you  instant  sympathy  for 
Keeonekh — he  is  so  different,  so  far  above  all  other 
members  of  his  tribe.  He  is  very  gentle  by  nature, 
with  no  trace  of  the  fisher's  ferocity  or  the  weasel's 
bloodthirstiness.  He  tames  easily,  and  makes  the  most 
docile  and  affectionate  pet  of  all  the  wood  folk.  He 
never  kills  for  the  sake  of  killing,  but  lives  peaceably, 
so  far  as  he  can,  with  all  creatures.  And  he  stops 
fishing  when  he  has  caught  his  dinner.  He  is  also 
most  cleanly  in  his  habits,  with  no  suggestion  what- 
ever of  the  evil  odors  that  cling  to  the  mink  and  defile 
the  whole  neighborhood  of  a  skunk.  One  cannot  help 
wondering  whether  just  going  fishing  has  not  wrought 
all  this  wonder  in  Keeonekh's  disposition.  If  so,  't  is  a 
pity  that  all  his  tribe  do  not  turn  fishermen. 

^ 

or  THE 

UNIVERSITY    J 
t 


48  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

His  one  enemy  among  the  wood  folk,  so  far  as 
I  have  observed,  is  the  beaver.  As  the  latter  is 
also  a  peaceable  animal,  it  is  difficult  to  account 
for  the  hostility.  I  have  heard  or  read  some- 
where that  Keeonekh  is  fond  of  young  beaver  and 
hunts  them  occasionally  to  vary  his  diet  of  fish; 
but  I  have  never  found  any  evidence  in  the  wilder- 
ness to  show  this.  Instead,  I  think  it  is  simply  a 
matter  of  the  beaver's  dam  and  pond  that  causes 
the  trouble. 

When  the  dam  is  built  the  beavers  often  dig  a 
channel  around  either  end  to  carry  off  the  surplus 
water,  and  so  prevent  their  handiwork  being  washed 
away  in  a  freshet.  Then  the  beavers  guard  their 
preserve  jealously,  driving  away  the  wood  folk  that 
dare  to  cross  their  dam  or  enter  their  pond's,  espe- 
cially the  musquash,  who  is  apt  to  burrow  and  cause 
them  no  end  of  trouble.  But  Keeonekh,  secure  in 
his  strength,  holds  straight  through  the  pond,  mind- 
ing his  own  business  and  even  taking  a  fish  or  two 
in  the  deep  places  near  the  dam.  He  delights  also  in 
running  water,  especially  in  winter  when  lakes  and 
streams  are  mostly  frozen,  and  in  his  journeyings 
he  makes  use  of  the  open  channels  that  guard  the 
beavers'  work.  But  the  moment  the  beavers  hear  a 
splashing  there,  or  note  a  disturbance  in  the  pond 


Keeonekh  the  Fisherman  49 

where  Keeonekh  is  chasing  fish,  down  they  come 
full  of  wrath.  And  there  is  generally  a  desperate 
fight  before  the  affair  is  settled. 

Once,  on  a  little  pond,  I  saw  a  fierce  battle  going 
on  out  in  the  middle,  and  paddled  hastily  to  find 
out  about  it.  Two  beavers  and  a  big  otter  were 
locked  in  a  death  struggle,  diving,  plunging,  throw- 
ing themselves  out  of  water,  and  snapping  at  each 
other's  throats. 

As  my  canoe  halted  the  otter  gripped  one  of  his 
antagonists  and  went  under  with  him.  There  was 
a  terrible  commotion  below  the  surface  for  a  few 
moments.  When  it  ended  the  beaver  rolled  up  dead, 
and  Keeonekh  shot  up  under  the  second  beaver  to 
repeat  the  attack.  They  gripped  on  the  instant,  but 
the  second  beaver,  an  enormous  fellow,  refused  to  go 
under  where  he  would  be  at  a  disadvantage.  In  my 
eagerness  I  let  the  canoe  drift  almost  upon  them, 
driving  them  wildly  apart  before  the  common  danger. 
The  otter  held  on  his  way  up  the  lake ;  the  beaver 
turned  towards  the  shore,  where  I  noticed  for  the 
first  time  a  couple  of  beaver  houses. 

In  this  case  there  was  no  chance  for  intrusion  on 
Keeonekh's  part.  He  had  probably  been  attacked 
when  going  peaceably  about  his  business  through 
the  lake. 


50  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

It  is  barely  possible,  however,  that  there  was  an  old 
grievance  on  the  beavers'  part,  which  they  sought  to 
square  when  they  caught  Keeonekh  on  the  lake. 
When  beavers  build  their  houses  on  the  lake  shore, 
without  the  necessity  for  making  a  dam,  they  gener- 
ally build  a  tunnel  slanting  up  from  the  lake's  bed  to 
their  den  or  house  on  the  bank.  Now  Keeonekh 
fishes  under  the  ice  in  winter  more  than  is  generally 
supposed.  As  he  must  breathe  after  every  chase  he 
must  needs  know  all  the  air-holes  and  dens  in  the 
whole  lake.  No  matter  how  much  he  turns  and 
doubles  in  the  chase  after  a  trou£  he  never  loses  his 
sense  of  direction,  never  forgets  where  the  breathing 
places  are.  When  his  fish  is  seized  he  makes  a  bee 
line  under  the  ice  for  the  nearest  place  where  he  can 
breathe  and  eat.  Sometimes  this  lands  him,  out  of 
breath,  in  the  beaver's  tunnel ;  and  the  beaver  must 
sit  upstairs  in  his  own  house,  nursing  his  wrath, 
while  Keeonekh  eats  fish  in  his  hallway ;  for  there  is 
not  room  for  both  at  once  in  the  tunnel,  and  a  fight 
there  or  under  the  ice  is  out  of  the  question.  As  the 
beaver  eats  only  bark  —  the  white  inner  layer  of 
"popple "bark  is  his  chief  dainty  —  he  cannot  under- 
stand and  cannot  tolerate  this  barbarian,  who  eats 
raw  fish  and  leaves  the  bones  and  fins  and  the  smell 
of  slime  in  his  doorway.  The  beaver  is  exemplary  in 


Keeonekh  the  Fisherman  51 

his  neatness,  detesting  all  smells  and  filth ;  and  this 
may  possibly  account  for  some  of  his  enmity  and  his 
savage  attacks  upon  Keeonekh  when  he  catches  him 
in  a  good  place. 

Not  the  least  interesting  of  Keeonekh's  queer  ways 
is  his  habit  of  sliding  down  hill,  which  makes  a  bond 
of  sympathy  and  brings  him  close  to  the  boyhood 
memories  of  those  who  know  him. 

I  remember  one  pair  of  otters  that  I  watched  for 
the  better  part  of  a  sunny  afternoon  sliding  down  a 
clay  bank  with  endless  delight.  The  slide  had  been 
made,  with  much  care  evidently,  on  the  steep  side  of 
a  little  promontory  that  jutted  into  the  river.  It  was 
very  steep,  about  twenty  feet  high,  and  had  been  made 
perfectly  smooth  by  much  sliding  and  wetting-down. 
An  otter  would  appear  at  the  top  of  the  bank,  throw 
himself  forward  on  his  belly  and  shoot  downward  like 
a  flash,  diving  deep  under  water  and  reappearing  some 
distance  out  from  the  foot  of  the  slide.  And  all  this 
with  marvelous  stillness,  as  if  the  very  woods  had  ears 
and  were  listening  to  betray  the  shy  creatures  at  their 
fun.  For  it  was  fun,  pure  and  simple,  and  fun  with 
no  end  of  tingle  and  excitement  in  it,  especially  when 
one  tried  to  catch  the  other  and  shot  into  the  water  at 
his  very  heels. 


52  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

This  slide  was  in  perfect  condition,  and  the  otters 
were  careful  not  to  roughen  it.  They  never  scrambled 
up  over  it,  but  went  round  the  point  and  climbed 
from  the  other  side,  or  else  went  up  parallel  to  the 
slide,  some  distance  away,  where  the  ascent  was 
easier  and  where  there  was  no  danger  of  rolling 
stones  or  sticks  upon  the  coasting  ground  to  spoil 
its  smoothness. 

In  winter  the  snow  makes  better  coasting  than  the 
clay.  Moreover  it  soon  grows  hard  and  icy  from 
the  freezing  of  the  water  left  by  the  otter's  body,  and 
after  a  few  days  the  slide  is  as  smooth  as  glass.  Then 
coasting  is  perfect,  and  every  otter,  old  and  young,  has 
his  favorite  slide  and  spends  part  of  every  pleasant 
day  enjoying  the  fun. 

When  traveling  through  the  woods  in  deep  snow, 
Keeonekh  makes  use  of  his  sliding  habit  to  help  him 
along,  especially  on  down  grades.  He  runs  a  little 
way  and  throws  himself  forward  on  his  belly,  sliding 
through  the  snow  for  several  feet  before  he  runs 
again.  So  his  progress  is  a  series  of  slides,  much  as 
one  hurries  along  in  slippery  weather. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  silver  bubbles  that  first  drew 
my  attention  to  the  fishing  otters  one  day  in  the 
wilderness.  From  the  few  rare  opportunities  that  I 
have  had  to  watch  them,  I  think  that  the  bubbles  are 


Keeonekh  the  Fisherman  53 

seen  only  after  Keeonekh  slides  swiftly  into  the  stream. 
The  air  clings  to  the  hairs  of  his  rough  outer  coat  and 
is  brushed  from  them  as  he  passes  through  the  water. 
One  who  watches  him  thus,  shooting  down  the  long 
slide  belly-bump  into  the  black  winter  pool,  with  a 
string  of  silver  bubbles  breaking  and  tinkling  above 
him,  is  apt  to  know  the  hunter's  change  of  heart  from 
the  touch  of  Nature  which  makes  us  all  kin.  There- 
after he  eschews  trapping —  at  least  you  will  not  find 
his  number-three  trap  at  the  foot  of  Keeonekh's  slide 
any  more,  to  turn  the  shy  creature's  happiness  into 
tragedy  —  and  he  sends  a  hearty  good-luck  after  his 
fellow-fisherman,  whether  he  meet  him  on  the  wilder- 
ness lakes  or  in  the  quiet  places  on  the  home  streams 
where  nobody  ever  comes. 


OSKOMENOS  the  kingfisher  is  a  kind  of 
outcast  among  the  birds.  I  think  they  regard 
him  as  a  half  reptile,  who  has  not  yet  climbed  high 
enough  in  the  bird  scale  to  deserve  recognition  ;  so 
they  let  him  severely  alone.  Even  the  goshawk  hes- 
itates before  taking  a  swoop  at  him,  not  knowing 
quite  whether  the  gaudy  creature  is  dangerous  or 
only  uncanny.  I  saw  a  great  hawk  once  drop  like  a 
bolt  upon  a  kingfisher  that  hung  on  quivering  wings, 
rattling  softly,  before  his  hole  in  the  bank.  But  the 
robber  lost  his  nerve  at  the  instant  when  he  should 
have  dropped  his  claws  to  strike.  He  swerved  aside 
and  shot  upward  in  a  great  slant  to  a  dead  spruce 
top,  where  he  stood  watching  intently  till  the  dark 

54 


Koskomenos  the  Outcast  55 

beak  of  a  brooding  kingfisher  reached  out  of  the 
hole  to  receive  the  fish  that  her  mate  had  brought 
her.  Whereupon  Koskomenos  swept  away  to  his 
watchtower  above  the  minnow  pool,  and  the  hawk 
set  his  wings  toward  the  outlet,  where  a  brood  of 
young  sheldrakes  were  taking  their  first  lessons  in 
the  open  water. 

No  wonder  the  birds  look  askance  at  Kingfisher. 
Hi£  head  is  ridiculously  large ;  his  feet  ridiculously 
small.  He  is  a  poem  of  grace  in  the  air;  but  he 
creeps  like  a  lizard,  or  waddles  so  that  a  duck  would 
be  ashamed  of  him,  in  the  rare  moments  when  he  is 
afoot.  His  mouth  is  big  enough  to  take  in  a  minnow 
whole ;  his  tongue  so  small  that  he  has  no  voice,  but 
only  a  harsh  klr-r-r-r-ik-ik-ik,  like  a  watchman's  rattle. 
He  builds  no  nest,  but  rather  a  den  in  the  bank,  in 
which  he  lives  most  filthily  half  the  day ;  yet  the 
other  half  he  is  a  clean,  beautiful  creature,  with  never 
a  suggestion  of  earth,  but  only  of  the  blue  heavens 
above  and  the  color-steeped  water  below,  in  his 
bright  garments.  Water  will  not  wet  him,  though 
he  plunge  a  dozen  times  out  of  sight  beneath  the 
surface.  His  clatter  is  harsh,  noisy,  diabolical;  yet 
his  plunge  into  the  stream,  with  its  flash  of  color,  its 
silver  spray,  and  its  tinkle  of  smitten  water,  is  the 
most  musical  thing  in  the  wilderness. 


56  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

As  a  fisherman  he  has  no  equal.  His  fishy,  expres- 
sionless eye  is  yet  the  keenest  that  sweeps  the  water, 
and  his  swoop  puts  even  the  fish-hawk  to  shame  for 
its  certainty  and  its  lightning  quickness. 

Besides  all  these  contradictions,  he  is  solitary, 
unknown,  inapproachable.  He  has  no  youth,  no  play, 
no  joy  except  to  eat ;  he  associates  with  nobody,  not 
even  with  his  own  kind ;  and  when  he  catches  a  fish, 
and  beats  its  head  against  a  limb  till  it  is  dead,  and 
sits  with  head  back-tilted,  swallowing  his  prey,  with  a 
clattering  chuckle  deep  down  in  his  throat,  he  affects 
you  as  a  parrot  does  that  swears  diabolically  under  his 
breath  as  he  scratches  his  head,  and  that  you  would 
gladly  shy  a  stone  at,  if  the  owner's  back  were  turned 
for  a  sufficient  moment. 

It  is  this  unknown,  this  uncanny  mixture  of  bird 
and  reptile  that  has  made  the  kingfisher  an  object  of 
superstition  among  all  savage  peoples.  The  legends 
about  him  are  legion  ;  his  crested  head  is  prized  by 
savages  above  all  others  as  a  charm  or  fetish;  and 
even  among  civilized  peoples  his  dried  body  may  still 
sometimes  be  seen  hanging  to  a  pole,  in  the  hope 
that  his  bill  will  point  out  the  quarter  from  which  the 
next  wind  will  blow. 

But  Koskomenos  has  another  side,  though  the 
world  as  yet  has  found  out  little  about  it.  One  day 


So  they  drove  him  down  stream  and  out  of  sight 


Koskomenos  the  Outcast  57 

in  the  wilderness  I  cheered  him  quite  involuntarily. 
It  was  late  afternoon ;  the  fishing  was  over,  and  I  sat 
in  my  canoe  watching  by  a  grassy  point  to  see  what 
would  happen  next.  Across  the  stream  was  a  clay 
bank,  near  the  top  of  which  a  hole  as  wide  as  a  tea- 
cup showed  where  a  pair  of  kingfishers  had  dug  their 
long  tunnel.  "  There  is  nothing  for  them  to  stand 
on  there;  how  did  they  begin  that  hole?"  I  wondered 
lazily;  "and  how  can  they  ever  raise  a  brood,  with -an 
open  door  like  that  for  mink  and  weasel  to  enter  ? " 
Here  were  two  new  problems  to  add  to  the  many 
unsolved  ones  which  meet  you  at  every  turn  on  the 
woodland  byways. 

A  movement  under  the  shore  stopped  my  wonder- 
ing, and  the  long  lithe  form  of  a  hunting  mink  shot 
swiftly  up  stream.  Under  the  hole  he  stopped, 
raised  himself  with  his  fore  paws  against  the  bank, 
twisting  his  head  from  side  to  side  and  sniffing  ner- 
vously. "  Something  good  up  there,"  he  thought,  and 
began  to  climb.  But  the  bank  was  sheer  and  soft ; 
he  slipped  back  half  a  dozen  times  without  rising  two 
feet.  Then  he  went  down  stream  to  a  point  where 
some  roots  gave  him  a  foothold,  and  ran  lightly  up 
till  under  the  dark  eaves  that  threw  their  shadowy 
roots  over  the  clay  bank.  There  he  crept  cautiously 
along  till  his  nose  found  the  nest,  and  slipped  down 


58  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

till  his  fore  paws  rested  on  the  threshold.  A  long 
hungry  sniff  of  the  rank  fishy  odor  that  pours  out  of 
a  kingfisher's  den,  a  keen  look  all  around  to  be  sure 
the  old  birds  were  not  returning,  and  he  vanished 
like  a  shadow. 

"  There  is  one  brood  of  kingfishers  the  less,"  I 
thought,  with  my  glasses  focused  on  the  hole.  But 
scarcely  was  the  thought  formed,  when  a  fierce 
rumbling  clatter  sounded  in  the  bank.  The  mink 
shot  out,  a  streak  of  red  showing  plainly  across  his 
brown  face.  After  him  came  a  kingfisher,  clattering 
out  a  storm  of  invectives,  and  aiding  his  progress  by 
vicious  jabs  at  his  rear.  He  had  made  *a  miscalcula- 
tion that  time ;  the  old  mother  bird  was  at  home 
waiting  for  him,  and  drove  her  powerful  beak  at  his 
evil  eye  the  moment  it  appeared  at  the  inner  end  of 
the  tunnel.  That  took  the  longing  for  young  king- 
fisher all  out  of  Cheokhes.  He  plunged  headlong 
down  the  bank,  the  bird  swooping  after  him  with  a 
rattling  alarm  that  brought  another  kingfisher  in  a 
twinkling.  The  mink  dived,  but  it  was  useless  to 
attempt  escape  in  that  way;  the  keen  eyes  above 
followed  his  flight  perfectly.  When  he  came  to  the 
surface,  twenty  feet  away,  both  birds  were  over  him 
and  dropped  like  plummets  on  his  head.  So  they 
drove  him  down  stream  and  out  of  sight. 


Koskomenos  the  Outcast  59 

Years  afterward  I  solved  the  second  problem 
suggested  by  the  kingfisher's  den,  when  I  had  the 
good  fortune,  one  day,  to  watch  a  pair.beginning  their 
tunneling.  All  who  have  ever  watched  the  bird 
have,  no  doubt,  noticed  his  wonderful  ability  to  stop 
short  in  swift  flight  and  hold  himself  poised  in  mid- 
air for  an  indefinite  time,  while  watching  the  move- 
ments of  a  minnow  beneath.  They  make  use  of  this 
ability  in  beginning  their  nest  on  a  bank  so  steep  as 
to  afford  no  foothold. 

As  I  watched  the  pair  referred  to,  first  one  then 
the  other  would  hover  before  the  point  selected,  as 
a  humming  bird  balances  for  a  moment  at  the  door 
of  a  trumpet  flower  to  be  sure  that  no  one  is  watch- 
ing ere  he  goes  in,  then  drive  his  beak  with  rapid 
plunges  into  the  bank,  sending  down  a  continuous 
shower  of  clay  to  the  river  below.  When  tired  he 
rested  on  a  watch-stub,  while  his  mate  made  a  batter- 
ing-ram of  herself  and  kept  up  the  work.  In  a 
remarkably  short  time  they  had  a  foothold  and 
proceeded  to  dig  themselves  in  out  of  sight. 

Kingfisher's  tunnel  is  so  narrow  that  he  cannot 
turn  around  in  it.  His  straight,  strong  bill  loosens 
the  earth ;  his  tiny  feet  throw  it  out  behind.  I 
would  see  a  shower  of  dirt,  and  perchance  the  tail 
of  Koskomenos  for  a  brief  instant,  then  a  period  of 


60  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

waiting,  and  another  shower.  This  kept  up  till  the 
tunnel  was  bored  perhaps  two  feet,  when  they 
undoubtedly  made  a  sharp  turn,  as  is  their  custom. 
After  that  they  brought  most  of  the  earth  out  in  their 
beaks.  While  one  worked,  the  other  watched  or 
fished  at  the  minnow  pool,  so  that  there  was  steady 
progress  as  long  as  I  observed  them. 

For  years  I  had  regarded  Koskomenos,  as  the  birds 
and  the  rest  of  the  wTorld  regard  him,  as  a  noisy,  half- 
diabolical  creature,  between  bird  and  lizard,  whom 
one  must  pass  by  with  suspicion.  But  that  affair 
with  the  mink  changed  my  feelings  a  bit.  Kosko- 
menos' mate  might  lay  her  eggs  like  a  reptile,  but  she 
could  defend  them  like  any  bird  hero.  So  I  took  to 
watching  more  carefully;  which  is  the  only  way  to 
get  acquainted. 

The  first  thing  I  noticed  about  the  birds  — an 
observation  confirmed  later  on  many  waters  —  was 
that  each  pair  of  kingfishers  have  their  own  particu- 
lar pools,  over  which  they  exercise  unquestioned  lord- 
ship. There  may  be  a  dozen  pairs  of  birds  on  a 
single  stream ;  but,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to 
observe,  each  family  has  a  certain  stretch  of  water  on 
which  no  other  kingfishers  are  allowed  to  fish.  They 
may  pass  up  and  down  freely,  but  they  never  stop  at 
the  minnow  pools ;  or,  if  they  are  caught  watching 


Koskomenos  the  Outcast  61 

near  them,  they  are  promptly  driven  out  by  the 
rightful  owners. 

The  same  thing  is  true  on  the  lake  shores. 
Whether  there  is  some  secret  understanding  and 
partition  among  them,  or  whether  (which  is  more 
likely)  their  right  consists  in  discovery  or  first  arrival, 
there  is  no  means  of  knowing. 

A  curious  thing,  in  this  connection,  is  that  while  a 
kingfisher  will  allow  none  of  his  kind  to  poach  on  his 
preserves,  he  lives  at  peace  with  the  brood  of  sheldrakes 
that  occupy  the  same  stretch  of  river.  And  the  shel- 
drake eats  a  dozen  fish  to  his  one.  The  same  thing 
is  noticeable  among  the  sheldrakes  also,  namely,  that 
each  pair,  or  rather  each  mother  and  her  brood,  have 
their  own  piece  of  lake  or  river  on  which  no  others 
are  allowed  to  fish.  The  .male  sheldrakes  meanwhile 
are  far  away,  fishing  on  their  own  waters. 

I  had  not  half  settled  this  matter  of  the  division  of 
trout  streams  when  another  observation  came,  which 
was  utterly  unexpected.  Koskomenos,  half  reptile 
though  he  seem,  not  only  recognizes  riparian  rights, 
but  he  is  also  capable  of  friendship  —  and  that,  too,  for 
a  moody  prowler  of  the  wilderness  whom  no  one  else 
cares  anything  about.  Here  is  the  proof. 

I  was  out  in  my  canoe  alone  looking  for  a  loon's 
nest,  one  midsummer  day,  when  the  fresh  trail  of  a 


62  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

bull  caribou  drew  me  to  shore.  The  trail  led  straight 
from  the  water  to  a  broad  alder  belt,  beyond  which, 
on  the  hillside,  I  might  find  the  big  brute  loafing  his 
time  away  till  evening  should  come,  and  watch  him 
to  see  what  he  would  do  with  himself. 

As  I  turned  shoreward  a  kingfisher  sounded  his 
rattle  and  came  darting  across  the  mouth  of  the  bay 
where  Hukweem  the  loon  had  hidden  her  two  eggs. 
I  watched  him,  admiring  the  rippling  sweep  of  his 
flight,  like  the  run  of  a  cat's-paw  breeze  across  a  sleep- 
ing lake,  and  the  clear  blue  of  his  crest  against  the 
deeper  blue  of  summer  sky.  Under  him  his  reflection 
rippled  along,  like  the  rush  of  a  gorgeous  fish  through 
the  glassy  water.  Opposite  my  canoe  he  checked 
himself,  poised  an  instant  in  mid-air,  watching  the 
minnows  that  my  paddle  had  disturbed,  and  dropped 
bill  first — plash!  with  a  silvery  tinkle  in  the  sound, 
as  if  hidden  bells  down  among  the  green  water 
weeds  had  been  set  to  ringing  by  this  sprite  of  the 
air.  A  shower  of  spray  caught  the  rainbow  for  a 
brief  instant ;  the  ripples  gathered  and  began  to 
dance  over  the  spot  where  Koskomenos  had  gone 
down,  when  they  were  scattered  rudely  again  as  he 
burst  out  among  them  with  his  fish.  He  swept  back 
to  the  stub  whence  he  had  come,  chuckling  on  the 
way.  There  he  whacked  his  fish  soundly  on  the 


Koskomenos  the  Outcast  63 

wood,  threw  his  head  back,  and  through  the  glass  I 
saw  the  tail  of  a  minnow  wriggling  slowly  down  the 
road  that  has  for  him  no  turning.  Then  I  took  up 
the  caribou  trail. 

I  had  gone  nearly  through  the  alders,  following 
the  course  of  a  little  brook  and  stealing  along  without 
a  sound,  when  behind  me  I  heard  the  kingfisher 
coming  above  the  alders,  rattling  as  if  possessed, 
klrrr,  klrrr,  klrrr-ik-ik-ik  !  On  the  instant  there  was 
a  heavy  plunge  and  splash  just  ahead,  and  the  swift 
rush  of  some  large  animal  up  the  hillside.  Over  me 
poised  the  kingfisher,  looking  down  first  at  me,  then 
ahead  at  the  unknown  beast,  till  the  crashing  ceased 
in  a  faint  rustle  far  away,  when  he  swept  back  to  his 
fishing-stub,  clacking  and  chuckling  immoderately. 

I  pushed  cautiously  ahead  and  came  presently  to  a 
beautiful  pool  below  a  rock,  where  the  hillside  shelved 
gently  towards  the  alders.  From  the  numerous  tracks 
and  the  look  of  the  place,  I  knew  instantly  that  I  had 
stumbled  upon  a  bear's  bathing  pool.  The  water  was 
still  troubled  and  muddy ;  huge  tracks,  all  soppy  and 
broken,  led  up  the  hillside  in  big  jumps;  the  moss 
was  torn,  the  underbrush  spattered  with  shining  water 
drops.  "  No  room  for  doubt  here,"  I  thought ;  "  Moo- 
ween  was  asleep  in  this  pool,  and  the  kingfisher  woke 
him  up  —  but  why  ?  and  did  he  do  it  on  purpose  ?  " 


64  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

I  remembered  suddenly  a  record  in  an  old  note- 
book, which  reads  :  "  Sugarloaf  Lake,  26  July. — Tried 
to  stalk  a  bear  this  noon.  No  luck.  He  was  nosing 
alongshore  and  I  had  a  perfect  chance ;  but  a  king- 
fisher scared  him."  I  began  to  wonder  how  the 
rattle  of  a  kingfisher,  which  is  one  of  the  commonest 
sounds  on  wilderness  waters,  could  scare  a  bear,  who 
knows  all  the  sounds  of  the  wilderness  perfectly. 
Perhaps  Koskomenos  has  an  alarm  note  and  uses  it 
for  a  friend  in  time  of  need,  as  gulls  go  out  of  their 
way  to  alarm  a  flock  of  sleeping  ducks  when  danger- 
is  approaching. 

Here  was  a  new  trait,  a  touch  of  the  human  in  this 
unknown,  clattering  suspect  of  the  fishing  streams. 
I  resolved  to  watch  him  with  keener  interest. 

Somewhere  above  me,  deep  in  the  tangle  of  the 
summer  wilderness,  Mooween  stood  watching  his  back 
track,  eyes,  ears,  and  nose  alert  to  discover  what  the 
creature  was  who  dared  frighten  him  out  of  his  noon- 
day bath.  It  would  be  senseless  to  attempt  to  sur- 
prise him  now;  besides,  I  had  no  weapon  of  any 
kind.  —  "  To-morrow,  about  this  time,  I  shall  be  com- 
ing back ;  then  look  out,  Mooween,"  I  thought  as  I 
marked  the  place  and  stole  away  to  my  canoe. 

But  the  next  day  when  I  came  to  the  place,  creep- 
ing along  the  upper  edge  of  the  alders  so  as  to  make 


Koskomenos  the  Outcast  65 

no  noise,  the  pool  was  clear  and  quiet,  as  if  nothing 
but  the  little  trout  that  hid  under  the  foam  bubbles 
had  ever  disturbed  its  peace.  Koskomenos  was 
clattering  about  the  bay  below  as  usual.  Spite  of  my 
precaution  he  had  seen  me  enter  the  alders ;  but  he 
gave  me  no  attention  whatever.  He  went  on  with 
his  fishing  as  if  he  knew  perfectly  that  the  bear  had 
deserted  his  bathing  pool. 

It  was  nearly  a  month  before  I  again  camped  on 
the  beautiful  lake.  Summer  was  gone.  All  her 
warmth  and  more  than  her  fragrant  beauty  still 
lingered  on  forest  and  river;  but  the  drowsiness  had 
gone  from  the  atmosphere,  and  the  haze  had  crept 
into  it.  Here  and  there  birches  and  maples  flung 
out  their  gorgeous  banners  of  autumn  over  the  silent 
water.  A  tingle  came  into  the  evening  air ;  the  lake's 
breath  lay  heavy  and  white  in  the  twilight  stillness ; 
birds  and  beasts  became  suddenly  changed  as  they 
entered  the  brief  period  of  sport  and  of  full  feeding. 

I  was  drifting  about  a  reedy  bay  (the  same  bay  in 
which  the  almost  forgotten  kingfisher  had  cheated 
me  out  of  my  bear,  after  eating  a  minnow  that  my 
paddle  had  routed  out  for  him)  shooting  frogs  for  my 
table  with  a  pocket  rifle.  How  different  it  was  here, 
I  reflected,  from  the  woods  about  home.  There  the 
game  was  already  harried  ;  the  report  of  a  gun  set 


66  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

every  living  creature  skulking.  Here  the  crack  of 
my  little  rifle  was  no  more  heeded  than  the  plunge 
of  a  fish-hawk,  or  the  groaning  of  a  burdened  elm 
bough.  A  score  of  fat  woodcock  lay  unheeding  in 
that  bit  of  alder  tangle  yonder,  the  ground  bored  like 
a  colander  after  their  night's  feeding.  Up  on  the 
burned  hillside  the  partridges  said,  quit>  quit !  when 
I  appeared,  and  jumped  to  a  tree  and  craned  their 
necks  to  see  what  I  was.  The  black  ducks  skulked 
in  the  reeds.  They  were  full-grown  now  and  strong 
of  wing,  but  the  early  hiding  habit  was  not  yet 
broken  up  by  shooting.  They  would  glide  through 
the  sedges,  and  double  the  bogs,  and  crouch  in  a 
tangle  till  the  canoe  was  almost  upon  them,  when 
with  a  rush  and  a  frightened  hark-ark!  they  shot 
into  the  air  and  away  to  the  river.  The  mink,  chang- 
ing from  brown  to  black,  gave  up  his  nest-robbing 
for  honest  hunting,  undismayed  by  trap  or  deadfall; 
and  up  in  the  inlet  I  could  see  grassy  domes  rising 
above  the  bronze  and  gold  of  the  marsh,  where 
Musquash  was  building  thick  and  high  for  winter 
cold  and  spring  floods.  Truly  it  was  good  to  be 
here,  and  to  enter  for  a  brief  hour  into  the  shy,  wild 
but  unharried  life  of  the  wood  folk. 

A  big  bullfrog  showed  his   head  among   the    lily 
pads,  and  the  little  rifle,  unmindful  of  the  joys  of  an 


Koskomenos  the  Outcast  67 

unharried  existence,  rose  slowly  to  its  place.  My 
eye  was  glancing  along  the  sights  when  a  sudden 
movement  in  the  alders  on  the  shore,  above  and 
beyond  the  unconscious  head  of  Chigwooltz  the  frog, 
spared  him  for  a  little  season  to  his  lily  pads  and  his 
minnow  hunting.  At  the  same  moment  a  kingfisher 
went  rattling  by  to  his  old  perch  over  the  minnow 
pool.  The  alders  swayed  again  as  if  struck  ;  a  huge 
bear  lumbered  out  of  them  to  the  shore,  with  a  dis- 
gruntled woof!  at  some  twig  that  had  switched  his 
ear  too  sharply. 

I  slid  lower  in  the  canoe  till  only  my  head  and 
shoulders  were  visible.  Mooween  went  nosing  along- 
shore till  something — a  dead  fish  or  a  mussel  bed  — 
touched  his  appetite,  when  he  stopped  and  began  feed- 
ing, scarcely  two  hundred  yards  away.  I  reached  first 
for  my  heavy  rifle,  then  for  the  paddle,  and  cautiously 
"  fanned  "  the  canoe  towards  shore  till  an  old  stump 
on  the  point  covered  my  approach.  Then  the  little 
bark  jumped  forward  as  if  alive.  But  I  had  scarcely 
started  when — klrrrr!  klrrr!  ik-ik-ik  !  Over  my  head 
swept  Koskomenos  with  a  rush  of  wings  and  an  alarm 
cry  that  spoke  only  of  haste  and  danger.  I  had  a 
glimpse  of  the  bear  as  he  shot  into  the  alders,  as  if 
thrown  by  a  catapult ;  the  kingfisher  wheeled  in  a 
great  rattling  circle  about  the  canoe  before  he 


68  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

pitched  upon  the  old  stump,  jerking  his  tail  and 
clattering  in  great  excitement. 

I  swung  noiselessly  out  into  the  lake,  where  I 
could  watch  the  alders.  They  were  all  still  for  a 
space  of  ten  minutes ;  but  Mooween  was  there,  I 
knew,  sniffing  and  listening.  Then  a  great  snake 
seemed  to  be  wriggling  through  the  bushes,  making 
no  sound,  but  showing  a  wavy  line  of  quivering  tops 
as  he  went. 

Down  the  shore  a  little  way  was  a  higher  point, 
with  a  fallen  tree  that  commanded  a  view  of  half  the 
lake.  I  had  stood  there  a  few  days  before,  while 
watching  to  determine  the  air  paths  and  lines  of 
flight  that  sheldrakes  use  in  passing  up  and  down 
the  lake, — for  birds  have  runways,  or  rather  fly- 
ways,  just  as  foxes  do.  Mooween  evidently  knew  the 
spot ;  the  alders  showed  that  he  was  heading  straight 
for  it,  to  look  out  on  the  lake  and  see  what  the 
alarm  was  about.  As  yet  he  had  no  idea  what  peril 
had  threatened  him  ;  though,  like  all  wild  creatures, 
he  had  obeyed  the  first  clang  of  a  danger  note  on 
the  instant.  Not  a  creature  in  the  woods,  from 
Mooween  down  to  Tookhees  the  wood  mouse,  but 
has  learned  from  experience  that,  in  matters  of  this 
kind,  it  is  well  to  jump  to  cover  first  and  investigate 
afterwards. 


Koskomenos  the  Outcast  69 

I  paddled  swiftly  to  the  point,  landed  and  crept  to  a 
rock  from  which  I  could  just  see  the  fallen  tree.  Moo- 
ween  was  coming.  "  My  bear  this  time,"  I  thought, 
as  a  twig  snapped  faintly.  Then  Koskomenos  swept 
into  the  woods,  hovering  over  the  brush  near  the  butt 
of  the  old  tree,  looking  down  and  rattling  —  klrrr-ik, 
clear  out!  klrrr-ik,  clear  out!  There  was  a  heavy 
rush,  such  as  a  bear  always  makes  when  alarmed  ; 
Koskomenos  swept  back  to  his  perch  ;  and  I  sought 
the  shore,  half  inclined  to  make  my  next  hunting 
more  even-chanced  by  disposing  of  one  meddlesome 
factor.  "  You  wretched,  noisy,  clattering  meddler !  " 
I  muttered,  the  front  sight  of  my  rifle  resting  fair  on 
the  blue  back  of  Koskomenos,  "  that  is  the  third  time 
you  have  spoiled  my  shot,  and  you  won't  have  another 
chance.  —  But  wait ;  who  is  the  meddler  here  ?  " 

Slowly  the  bent  finger  relaxed  on  the  trigger.  A 
loon  went  floating  by  the  point,  all  unconscious  of 
danger,  with  a  rippling  wake  that  sent  silver  reflec- 
tions glinting  across  the  lake's  deep  blue.  Far  over- 
head soared  an  eagle,  breeze-borne  in  wide  circles, 
looking  down  on  his  own  wide  domain,  unheeding 
the  man's  intrusion.  Nearer,  a  red  squirrel  barked 
down  his  resentment  from  a  giant  spruce  trunk. 
Down  on  my  left  a  heavy  splash  and  a  wild,  free 
tumult  of  quacking  told  where  the  black  ducks  were 


70  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

coming  in,  as  they  had  done,  undisturbed,  for  genera- 
tions. Behind  me  a  long  roll  echoed  through  the 
woods  —  some  young  cock  partridge,  whom  the  warm 
sun  had  beguiled  into  drumming  his  spring  love-call. 
From  the  mountain  side  a  cow  moose  rolled  back  a 
startling  answer.  Close  at  hand,  yet  seeming  miles 
away,  a  chipmunk  was  chunking  sleepily  in  the  sun- 
shine, while  a  nest  of  young  wood  mice  were  calling 
their  mother  in  the  grass  at  my  feet.  And  every 
wild  sound  did  but  deepen  the  vast,  wondrous  silence 
of  the  wilderness. 

"  After  all,  what  place  has  the  roar  of  a  rifle  or  the 
smell  of  sulphurous  powder  in  the  midst  of  all  this 
blessed  peace  ?  "  I  asked  half  sadly.  As  if  in  answer, 
the  kingfisher  dropped  with  his  musical  plash,  and 
swept  back  with  exultant  rattle  to  his  watchtower.  — 
"  Go  on  with  your  clatter  and  your  fishing.  '  The 
wilderness  and  the  solitary  place  shall  still  be  glad ' 
for  you  and  Mooween,  and  the  trout  pools  would  be 
lonely  without  you.  But  I  wish  you  knew  that  your 
life  lay  a  moment  ago  in  the  bend  of  my  finger,  and 
that  some  one,  besides  the  bear,  appreciates  your  brave 
warning." 

Then  I  went  back  to  the  point  to  measure  the 
tracks,  and  to  estimate  how  big  the  bear  was,  and 
to  console  myself  with  the  thought  of  how  I  would 


Koskomenos  the  Outcast  71 

certainly  have  had  him,  if  something  had  not  interfered 

—  which  is  the  philosophy  of  all  hunters  since  Esau. 
It  was  a  few  days  later  that  the  chance  came  of 

repaying  Koskomenos  with  coals  of  fire.  The  lake 
surface  was  still  warm ;  no  storms  nor  frosts  had 
cooled  it.  The  big  trout  had  risen  from  the  deep 
places,  but  were  not  yet  quickened  enough  to  take 
my  flies ;  so,  trout  hungry,  I  had  gone  trolling  for 
them  with  a  minnow.  I  had  taken  two  good  fish, 
and  was  moving  slowly  by  the  mouth  of  the  bay, 
Simmo  at  the  paddle,  when  a  suspicious  movement 
on  the  shore  attracted  my  attention.  I  passed  the 
line  to  Simmo,  the  better  to  use  my  glasses,  and  was 
scanning  the  alders  sharply,  when  a  cry  of  wonder 
came  from  the  Indian.  "  O  bah  cosh,  see !  das 
second  time  I  catch-um,  Koskomenos."  And  there, 
twenty  feet  above  the  lake,  a  young  kingfisher  —  one 
of  Koskomenos'  frowzy-headed,  wild-eyed  youngsters 

—  was  whirling  wildly  at  the  end  of  my  line.      He 
had  seen  the  minnow  trailing  a  hundred  feet  astern 
and,  with  more  hunger  than  discretion,  had  swooped 
for  it  promptly.     Simmo,  feeling  the  tug  but  seeing 
nothing  behind   him,  had  struck  promptly,  and   the 
hook  went  home. 

I  seized  the  line  and  began  to  pull  in  gently.     The 
young    kingfisher    came    most    unwillingly,    with    a 


72  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

continuous  clatter  of  protest  that  speedily  brought 
Koskomenos  and  his  mate,  and  two  or  three  of 
the  captive's  brethren,  in  a  wild,  clamoring  ring 
about  the  canoe.  They  showed  no  lack  of  courage, 
but  swooped  again  and  again  at  the  line,  and  even 
at  the  man  who  held  it.  In  a  moment  I  had  the 
youngster  in  my  hand,  and  had  disengaged  the  hook. 
He  was  not  hurt  at  all,  but  terribly  frightened ;  so  I 
held  him  a  little  while,  enjoying  the  excitement  of  the 
others,  whom  the  captive's  alarm  rattle  kept  circling 
wildly  about  the  canoe.  It  was  noteworthy  that  not 
another  bird  heeded  the  cry  or  came  near.  Even  in 
distress  they  refused  to  recognize  the  outcast.  Then, 
as  Koskomenos  hovered  on  quivering  wings  just  over 
my  head,  I  tossed  the  captive  close  up  beside  him. 
"  There,  Koskomenos,  take  your  young  chuckle-head, 
and  teach  him  better  wisdom.  Next  time  you  see 
me  stalking  a  bear,  please  go  on  with  your  fishing." 
But  there  was  no  note  of  gratitude  in  the  noisy 
babel  that  swept  up  the  bay  after  the  kingfishers. 
When  I  saw  -them  again,  they  were  sitting  on  a 
dead  branch,  five  of  them  in  a  row,  chuckling  and 
clattering  all  at  once,  unmindful  of  the  minnows  that 
played  beneath  them.  I  have  no  doubt  that,  in  their 
own  way,  they  were  telling  each  other  all  about  it. 


AEEKQ 


THE 
-MAKER 


•  HERE  is  a  curious  Indian  legend 
about  Meeko  the  red  squirrel  — 
the  Mischief-Maker,  as  the  Mili- 
cetes  call  him  —  which  is  also  an 
excellent  commentary  upon  his 
character.  Simmo  told  it  to  me,  one  day,  when  we 
had  caught  Meeko  coming  out  of  a  woodpecker's 
hole  with  the  last  of  a  brood  of  fledgelings  in  his 
mouth,  chuckling  to  himself  over  his  hunting. 

Long  ago,  in  the  days  when  Clote  Scarpe  ruled 
the  animals,  Meeko  was  much  larger  than  he  is  now, 
large  as  Mooween  the  bear..  But  his  temper  was  so 
fierce,  and  his  disposition  so  altogether  bad  that  all 
the  wood  folk  were  threatened  with  destruction. 
Meeko  killed  right  and  left  with  the  temper  of  a 
weasel,  who  kills  from  pure  lust  of  blood.  So  Clote 
Scarpe,  to.  save  the  little  woods-people,  made  Meeko 
smaller  —  small  as  he  is  now.  Unfortunately,  Clote 

73 


74  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

Scarpe  forgot  Meeko's  disposition ;  that  remained  as 
big  and  as  bad  as  before.  So  now  Meeko  goes  about 
the  woods  with  a  small  body  and  a  big  temper,  bark- 
ing, scolding,  quarreling  and,  since  he  cannot  destroy 
in  his  rage  as  before,  setting  other  animals  by  the 
ears  to  destroy  each  other. 

When  you  have  listened  to  Meeko's  scolding  for  a 
season,  and  have  seen  him  going  from  nest  to  nest 
after  innocent  fledgelings  ;  or  creeping  into  the  den 
of  his  big  cousin,  the  beautiful  gray  squirrel,  to  kill 
the  young ;  or  driving  away  his  little  cousin,  the  chip- 
munk, to  steal  his  hoarded  nuts,-  or  watching  every 
fight  that  goes  on  in  the  woods,  jeering  and  chuck- 
ling above  it,  —  then  you  begin  to  understand  the 
Indian  legend. 

Spite  of  his  evil  ways,  however,  he  is  interesting 
and  always  unexpected.  When  you  have  watched  the 
red  squirrel  that  lives  near  your  camp  all  summer, 
and  think  you  know  all  about  him,  he  does  the 
queerest  thing,  good  or  bad,  to  upset  all  your 
theories  and  even  the  Indian  legends  about  him. 

I  remember  one  that  greeted  me,  the  first  living 
thing  in  the  great  woods,  as  I  ran  my  canoe  ashore 
on  a  wilderness  river.  Meeko  heard  me  coming. 
His  bark  sounded  loudly,  in  a  big  spruce,  above  the 
dip  of  the  paddles.  As  we  turned  shoreward,  he  ran 


Meeko  the  Mischief- Maker  75 

down  the  tree  in  which  he  was,  and  out  on  a  fallen 
log  to  meet  us.  I  grasped  a  branch  of  the  old  log  to 
steady  the  canoe  and  watched  him  curiously.  He  had 
never  seen  a  man  before ;  he  barked,  jeered,  scolded, 
jerked  his  tail,  whistled,  did  everything  within  his 
power  to  make  me  show  my  teeth  and  my  disposition. 

Suddenly  he  grew  excited  —  and  when  Meeko  grows 
excited  the  woods  are  not  big  enough  to  hold  him. 
He  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  my  canoe  till  he 
leaped  upon  the  gunwale  and  sat  there  chattering,  as 
if  he  were  Adjidaumo  come  back  again  and  I  were 
Hiawatha.  All  the  while  he  had  poured  out  a  torrent 
of  squirrel  talk,  but  now  his  note  changed ;  jeering 
and  scolding  and  curiosity  went  out  of  it ;  something 
else  crept  in.  I  began  to  feel,  somehow,  that  he  was 
trying  to  make  me  understand  something,  and  found 
me  very  stupid  about  it. 

I  began  to  talk  quietly,  calling  him  a  rattle-head  and 
a  disturber  of  the  peace.  At  the  first  sound  of  my 
voice  he  listened  with  intense  curiosity,  then  leaped 
to  the  log,  ran  the  length  of  it,  jumped  down  and 
began  to  dig  furiously  among  the  moss  and  dead 
leaves.  Every  moment  or  two  he  would  stop,  and 
jump  to  the  log  to  see  if  I  were  watching  him. 

Presently  he  ran  to  my  canoe,  sprang  upon  the 
gunwale,  jumped  back  again,  and  ran  along  the  log 


7  6  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

as  before  to  where  he  had  been  digging.  He  did  it 
again,  looking  back  at  me  and  saying  plainly :  "  Come 
here;  come  and  look."  I  stepped  out  of  the  canoe 
to  the  old  log,  whereupon  Meeko  went  off  into 
a  fit  of  terrible  excitement.  —  I  was  bigger  than  he 
expected ;  I  had  only  two  legs ;  kut-e-k  chuck,  hut-e- 
ft chuck  !  whit,  whit,  whit,  kut-e-k"  chuck  ! 

I  stood  where  I  was  until  he  got  over  his  excite- 
ment. Then  he  came  towards  me,  and  led  me  along 
the  log,  with  much  chuckling  and  jabbering,  to  the 
hole  in  the  leaves  where  he  had  been  digging.  When 
I  bent  over  it  he  sprang  to  a  spruce  trunk,  on  a  level 
with  my  head,  fairly  bursting  with  excitement,  but 
watching  me  with  intensest  interest.  In  the  hole  I 
found  a  small  lizard,  one  of  the  rare  kind  that  lives 
under  logs  and  loves  the  dusk.  He  had  been  bitten 
through  the  back  and  disabled.  He  could  still  use 
legs,  tail  and  head  feebly,  but  could  not  run  away. 
When  I  picked  him  up  and  held  him  in  my  hand, 
Meeko  came  closer  with  loud-voiced  curiosity,  long- 
ing to  leap  to  my  hand  and  claim  his  own,  but  held 
back  by  fear.  —  "  What  is  it  ?  He  's  mine ;  I  found 
him.  What  is  it  ? "  he  barked,  jumping  about  as  if 
bewitched.  Two  curiosities,  the  lizard  and  the  man, 
were  almost  too  much  for  him.  I  never  saw  a  squirrel 
more  excited.  He  had  evidently  found  the  lizard  by 


Meeko  the  Mischief-Maker  77 

accident,  bit  him  to  keep  him  still,  and  then,  aston- 
ished by  the  rare  find,  hid  him  away  where  he  could 
dig  him  out  and  watch  him  at  leisure. 

I  put  the  lizard  back  into  the  hole  and  covered 
him  with  leaves  ;  then  went  to  unloading  my  canoe. 
Meeko  watched  me  closely.  And  the  moment  I  was 
gone  he  dug  away  the  leaves,  took  his  treasure  out, 
watched  it  with  wide  bright  eyes,  bit  it  once  more 
to  keep  it  still,  and  covered  it  up  again  carefully. 
Then  he  came  chuckling  along  to  where  I  was 
putting  up  my  tent. 

In  a  week  he  owned  the  camp,  coming  and  going 
at  his  own  will,  stealing  my  provisions  when  I  forgot 
to  feed  him,  and  scolding  me  roundly  at  every  irregu- 
lar occurrence.  He  was  an  early  riser  and  insisted 
on  my  conforming  to  the  custom.  Every  morning 
he  would  leap  at  daylight  from  a  fir  tip  to  my  ridge- 
pole, run  it  along  to  the  front  and  sit  there,  barking 
and  whistling,  until  I  put  my  head  out  of  my  door, 
or  until  Simmo  came  along  with  his  axe.  Of  Simmo 
and  his  axe  Meeko  had  a  mortal  dread,  which  I  could 
not  understand  till  one  day  when  I  paddled  silently 
back  to  camp  and,  instead  of  coming  up  the  path,  sat 
idly  in  my  canoe  watching  the  Indian,  who  had  broken 
his  one  pipe  and  now  sat  making  another  out  of  a 
chunk  of  black  alder  and  a  length  of  nanny  bush. 


78  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

Simmo  was  as  interesting  to  watch,  in  his  way,  as 
any  of  the  wood  folk. 

Presently  Meeko  came  down,  chattering  his  curios- 
ity at  seeing  the  Indian  so  still  and  so  occupied.  A 
red  squirrel  is  always  unhappy  unless  he  knows  all 
about  everything.  He  watched  from  the  nearest 
tree  for  a  while,  but  could  not  make  up  his  mind 
what  was  doing.  Then  he  came  down  on  the 
ground  and  advanced  a  foot  at  a  time,  jumping  up 
continually  but  coming  down  in  the  same  spot,  bark- 
ing to  make  Simmo  turn  his  head  and  show  his 
hand.  Simmo  watched  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eye  until  Meeko  was  near  a  solitary  tree  which 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  camp  ground,  when  he 
jumped  up  suddenly  and  rushed  at  the  squirrel,  who 
sprang  to  the  tree  and  ran  to  a  branch  out  of  reach, 
snickering  and  jeering. 

Simmo  took  his  axe  deliberately  and  swung  it 
mightily  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  as  if  to  chop  it  down ; 
only  he  hit  the  trunk  with  the  head,  not  the  blade  of 
his  weapon.  At  the  first  blow,  which  made  his  toes 
tingle,  Meeko  stopped  jeering  and  ran  higher.  Simmo 
swung  again  and  Meeko  went  up  another  notch.  So 
it  went  on,  Simmo  looking  up  intently  to  see  the 
effect  and  Meeko  running  higher  after  each  blow, 
until  the  tiptop  was  reached.  Then  Simmo  gave  a 


Meeko  the  Mis  chief -Maker  79 

mighty  whack;  the  squirrel  leaped  far  out  and  came 
to  the  ground,  sixty  feet  below;  picked  himself  up, 
none  the  worse  for  his  leap,  and  rushed  scolding 
away  to  his  nest.  Then  Simmo  said  umpfh  f  like  a 
bear,  and  went  back  to  his  pipe-making.  He  had 
not  smiled  nor  relaxed  the  intent  expression  of  his 
face  during  the  whole  little  comedy. 

I  found  out  afterwards  that  making  Meeko  jump 
from  a  tree  top  is  one  of  the  few  diversions  of  Indian 
children.  I  tried  it  myself  many  times  with  many 
squirrels,  and  found  to  my  astonishment  that  a  jump 
from  any  height,  however  great,  is  no  concern  to  a 
squirrel,  red  or  gray.  They  have  a  way  of  flattening 
the  body  and  bushy  tail  against  the  air,  which  breaks 
their  fall.  Their  bodies,  and  especially  their  bushy 
tails,  have  a  curious  tremulous  motion,  like  the  quiver 
of  wings,  as  they  come  down.  The  flying  squirrel's 
sailing  down  from  a  tree  top  to  another  tree,  fifty  feet 
away,  is  but  an  exaggeration,  due  to  the  membrane 
connecting  the  fore  and  hind  legs,  of  what  all  squir- 
rels practice  continually.  I  have  seen  a  red  squirrel 
land  lightly  after  jumping  from  an  enormous  height, 
and  run  away  as  if  nothing  unusual  had  happened. 
But  though  I  have  watched  them  often,  I  have  never 
seen  a  squirrel  do  this  except  when  compelled  to  do 
so.  When  chased  by  a  weasel  or  a  marten,  or  when  the 


8o  Secrets  of  ~ the  Woods 

axe  beats  against  the  trunk  below  —  either  because 
the  vibration  hurts  their  feet,  or  else  they  fear  the 
tree  is  being  cut  down  —  they  use  the  strange  gift 
to  save  their  lives.  But  I  fancy  it  is  a  breathless 
experience,  and  they  never  try  it  for  fun,  though 
I  have  seen  them  do  all  sorts  of  risky  stumps  in 
leaping  from  branch  to  branch. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that,  though  a  squirrel  leaps 
from  a  great  height  without  hesitation,  it  is  practi- 
cally impossible  to  make  him  take  a  jump  of  a  few 
feet  to  the  ground.  Probably  the  upward  rush  of 
air,  caused  by  falling  a  long  distance,  is  necessary  to 
flatten  the  body  enough  to  make  him  land  lightly. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  know  whether  the  rac- 
coon also,  a  large,  heavy  animal,  has  the  same  way 
of  breaking  his  fall  when  he  jumps  from  a  height. 
One  bright  moonlight  night,  when  I  ran  ahead  of 
the  dogs,  I  saw  a  big  coon  leap  from  a  tree  to  the 
ground,  a  distance  of  some  thirty  or  forty  feet.  The 
dogs  had  treed  him  in  an  evergreen,  and  he  left  them 
howling  below  while  he  stole  silently  from  branch  to 
branch  until  a  good  distance  away,  when  to  save  time 
he  leaped  to  the  ground.  He  struck  with  a  heavy 
thump,  but  ran  on  uninjured  as  swiftly  as  before,  and 
gave  the  dogs  a  long  run  before  they  treed  him  again. 


Meeko  the  Mischief -Maker  81 

The  sole  of  a  coon's  foot  is  padded  thick  with  fat 
and  gristle,  so  that  it  must  feel  like  landing  on 
springs  when  he  jumps ;  but  I  suspect  that  he  also 
knows  the  squirrel  trick  of  flattening  his  body  and 
tail  against  the  air  so  as  to  fall  lightly. 

The  chipmunk  seems  to  be  the  only  one  of  the 
squirrel  family  in  whom  this  gift  is  wanting.  Possi- 
bly he  has  it  also,  if  the  need  ever  comes.  I  fancy, 
however,  that  he  would  fare  badly  if  compelled  to 
jump  from  a  spruce  top,  for  his  body  is  heavy  and 
his  tail  small  from  long  living  on  the  ground ;  all 
of  which  seems  to  indicate  that  the  tree-squirrel's 
bushy  tail  is  given  him,  not  for  ornament,  but  to  aid 
his  passage  from  branch  to  branch,  and  to  break  his 
fall  when  he  comes  down  from  a  height. 

By  way  of  contrast  with  Meeko,  you  may  try  a 
curious  trick  on  the  chipmunk.  It  is  not  easy  to  get 
him  into  a  tree ;  he  prefers  a  log  or  an  old  wall  when 
frightened ;  and  he  is  seldom  more  than  two  or  three 
jumps  from  his  den.  But  watch  him  as  he  goes  from 
his  garner  to  the  grove  where  the  acorns  are,  or  to 
the  field  where  his  winter  corn  is  ripening.  Put 
yourself  near  his  path  (he  always  follows  the  same 
one  to  and  fro)  where  there  is  no  refuge  close  at 
hand.  Then,  as  he  comes  along,  rush  at  him  sud- 
denly and  he  will  take  to  the  nearest  tree  in  his 


82  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

alarm.  When  he  recovers  from  his  fright  —  which 
is  soon  over;  for  he  is  the  most  trustful  of  squirrels 
and  looks  down  at  you  with  interest,  never  question- 
ing your  motives  —  take  a  stick  and  begin  to  tap  the 
tree  softly.  The  more  slow  and  rhythmical  your  tattoo 
the  sooner  he  is  charmed.  Presently  he  comes  down 
closer  and  closer,  his  eyes  filled  with  strange  wonder. 
More  than  once  I  have  had  a  chipmunk  come  to  my 
hand  and  rest  upon  it,  looking  everywhere  for  the  queer 
sound  that  brought  him  down,  forgetting  fright  and 
cornfield  and  coming  winter  in  his  bright  curiosity. 


Meeko  is  a  bird  of  another  color.  He  never  trusts 
you  nor  anybody  else  fully,  and  his  curiosity  is  gener- 
ally of  the  vulgar,  selfish  kind.  When  the  autumn 
woods  are  busy  places,  and  wings  flutter  and  little 
feet  go  pattering  everywhere  after  winter  supplies, 
he  also  begins  garnering,  remembering  the  hungry 
days  of  last  winter.  But  he  is  always  more  curious 
to  see  what  others  are  doing  than  to  fill  his  own  bins. 
He  seldom  trusts  to  one  storehouse  —  he  is  too  suspi- 
cious for  that  —  but  hides  his  things  in  twenty  different 


Meeko  the  Mis  chief -Maker  83 

places;  some  shagbarks  in  the  old  wall,  a  handful 
of  acorns  in  a  hollow  tree,  an  ear  of  corn  under  the 
eaves  of  the  old  barn,  a  pint  of  chestnuts  scattered 
about  in  the  trees,  some  in  crevices  in  the  bark,  some 
in  a  pine  crotch  covered  carefully  with  needles,  and 
one  or  two  stuck  firmly  into  the  splinters  of  every 
broken  branch  that  is  not  too  conspicuous.  But  he 
never  gathers  much  at  a  time.  The  moment  he  sees 
anybody  else  gathering  he  forgets  his  own  work  and 
goes  spying  to  see  where  others  are  hiding  their 
store.  The  little  chipmunk,  who  knows  his  thiev- 
ing and  his  devices,  always  makes  one  turn,  at  least, 
in  the  tunnel  to  his  den  too  small  for  Meeko 
to  follow. 

He  sees  a  blue  jay  flitting  through  the  woods,  and 
knows  by  his  unusual  silence  that  he  is  hiding  things. 
Meeko  follows  after  him,  stopping  all  his  jabber  and 
stealing  from  tree  to  tree,  watching  patiently,  for 
hours  if  need  be,  until  he  knows  that  Deedeeaskh  is 
gathering  corn  from  a  certain  field.  Then  he  watches 
the  line  of  flight,  like  a  bee  hunter,  and  sees  Deedee- 
askh disappear  twice  by  an  oak  on  the  wood's  edge, 
a  hundred  yards  away.  Meeko  rushes  away  at  a 
headlong  pace  and  hides  himself  in  the  oak.  There 
he  traces  the  jay's  line  of  flight  a, little  farther  into 
the  woods;  sees  the  unconscious  thief  disappear  by 


84  Secrets  of  the  floods 

an  old  pine.  Meeko  hides  in  the  pine,  and  so  traces 
the  jay  straight  to  one  of  his  storehouses. 

Sometimes  Meeko  is  so  elated  over  the  discovery 
that,  with  all  the  fields  laden  with  food,  he  cannot 
wait  for  winter.  When  the  jay  goes  away  Meeko 
falls  to  eating  or  to  carrying  away  his  store.  More 
often  he  marks  the  spot  and  goes  away  silently. 
When  he  is  hungry  he  will  carry  off  Deedeeaskh's 
corn  before  touching  his  own. 

Once  I  saw  the  tables  turned  in  a  most  interesting 
fashion.  Deedeeaskh  is  as  big  a  thief  in  his  way  as 
is  Meeko,  and  also  as  vile  a  nest-robber.  The  red 
squirrel  had  found  a  hoard  of  chestnuts  —  small  fruit, 
but  sweet  and  good  —  and  was  hiding  it  away.  Part 
of  it  he  stored  in  a  hollow  under  the  stub  of  a  broken 
branch,  twenty  feet  from  the  ground,  so  near  the 
source  of  supply  that  no  one  would  ever  think  of 
looking  for  it  there.  I  was  hidden  away  in  a  thicket 
when  I  discovered  him  at  his  work  quite  by  accident. 
He  seldom  came  twice  to  the  same  spot,  but  went 
off  to  his  other  storehouses  in  succession.  After  an 
unusually  long  absence,  when  I  was  expecting  him 
every  moment,  a  blue  jay  came  stealing  into  the  tree, 
spying  and  sneaking  about,  as  if  a  nest  of  fresh 
thrush's  eggs  were  somewhere  near.  He  smelled  a 
mouse  evidently,  for  after  a  moment's  spying  he  hid 


Meeko  the  Mis  chief -Maker  85 

himself  away  in  the  tree  top,  close  up  against  the 
trunk.  Presently  Meeko  came  back,  with  his  face 
bulging  as  if  he  had  toothache,  uncovered  his  store, 
emptied  in  the  half  dozen  chestnuts  from  his  cheek 
pockets  and  covered  them  all  up  again. 

The  moment  he  was  gone  the  blue  jay  went 
straight  to  the  spot,  seized  a  mouthful  of  nuts  and 
flew  swiftly  away.  He  made  three  trips  before  the 
squirrel  came  back.  Meeko  in  his  hurry  never 
noticed  the  loss,  but  emptied  his  pockets  and  was 
off  to  the  chestnut  tree  again.  When  he  returned, 
the  jay  in  his  eagerness  had  disturbed  the  leaves 
which  covered  the  hidden  store.  Meeko  noticed  it 
and  was  all  suspicion  in  an  instant.  He  whipped  off 
the  covering  and  stood  staring  down  intently  into  the 
garner,  evidently  trying  to  compute  the  number  he 
had  brought  and  the  number  that  were  there.  Then 
a  terrible  scolding  began,  a  scolding  that  was  broken 
short  off  when  a  distant  screaming  of  jays  came 
floating  through  the  woods.  Meeko  covered  his 
store  hurriedly,  ran  along  a  limb  and  leaped  to 
the  next  tree,  where  he  hid  in  a  knot  hole,  just  his 
eyes  visible,  watching  his  garner  keenly  out  of  the 
darkness. 

Meeko  has  no  patience.  Three  or  four  times  he 
showed  himself  nervously.  Fortunately  for  me,  the 


86  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

jay  had  found  some  excitement  to  keep  his  rattle- 
brain busy  for  a  moment.  A  flash  of  blue,  and  he 
came  stealing  back,  just  as  Meeko  had  settled  him- 
self for  more  watching.  After  much  peeking  and 
listening  the  jay  flew  down  to  the  storehouse,  and 
Meeko,  unable  to  contain  himself  a  moment  longer 
at  sight  of  the  thief,  jumped  out  of  his  hiding  and 
came  rushing  along  the  limb,  hurling  threats  and 
vituperation  ahead  of  him.  The  jay  fluttered  off, 
screaming  derision.  Meeko  followed,  hurling  more 
abuse,  but  soon  gave  up  the  chase  and  came  back 
to  his  chestnuts.  It  was  curious  to  watch  him  there, 
sitting  motionless  and  intent,  his  nose  close  down  to 
his  treasure,  trying  to  compute  his  loss.  Then  he 
stuffed  his  cheeks  full  and  began  carrying  his  hoard 
off  to  another  hiding  place. 

The  autumn  woods  are  full  of  such  little  comedies. 
Jays,  crows,  and  squirrels  are  all  hiding  away  winter's 
supplies,  and  no  matter  how  great  the  abundance, 
not  one  of  them  can  resist  the  temptation  to  steal 
or  to  break  into  another's  garner. 

Meeko  is  a  poor  provider ;  he  would  much  rather 
live  on  buds  and  bark  and  apple  seeds  and  fir  cones, 
and  what  he  can  steal  from  others  in  the  winter,  than 
bother  himself  with  laying  up  supplies  of  his  own. 
When  the  spring  comes  he  goes  a-hunting,  and  is  for 


Hurling  threats  and  vituperation  ahead  of  him 


Meeko  the  Mischief-Maker  87 

a  season  the  most  villainous  of  nest-robbers.  Every 
bird  in  the  woods  then  hates  him,  takes  a  jab  at  him, 
and  cries  thief,  thief !  wherever  he  goes. 

On  a  trout  brook  once  I  had  a  curious  sense  of 
comradeship  with  Meeko.  It  was  in  the  early  spring, 
when  all  the  wild  things  make  holiday,  and  man  goes 
a-fishing.  Near  the  brook  a  red  squirrel  had  tapped 
a  maple  tree  with  his  teeth  and  was  tasting  the  sweet 
sap  as  it  came  up  scantily.  Seeing  him  and  remem- 
bering my  own  boyhood,  I  cut  a  little  hollow  into  the 
bark  of  a  black  birch  tree  and,  when  it  brimmed  full, 
drank  the  sap  with  immense  satisfaction.  Meeko 
stopped  his  own  drinking  to  watch,  then  to  scold  and 
denounce  me  roundly. 

While  my  cup  was  filling  again  I  went  down  to 
the  brook  and  took  a  wary  old  trout  from  his  den 
under  the  end  of  a  log,  where  the  foam  bubbles  were 
dancing  merrily.  When  I  went  back,  thirsting  for 
another  sweet  draught  from  the  same  spring,  Meeko 
had  emptied  it  to  the  last  drop  and  had  his  nose 
down  in  the  bottom  of  my  cup,  catching  the  sap  as 
it  welled  up  with  an  abundance  that  must  have  sur- 
prised him.  When  I  went  away  quietly  he  followed 
me  through  the  wood  to  the  pool  at  the  edge  of  the 
meadow,  to  see  what  I  would  do  next. 


88  Secrets  of  the  Woods 


*- 


Wherever  you  go  in  the  wilderness  you  find  Meeko 
ahead  of  you,  and  all  the  best  camping  grounds  pre- 
empted by  him.  Even  on  the  islands  he  seems  to 
own  the  prettiest  spots,  and  disputes  mightily  your 
right  to  stay  there;  though  he  is  generally  glad 
enough  of  your  company  to  share  his  loneliness, 
and  shows  it  plainly. 

Once  I  found  one  living  all  by  himself  on  an  island 
in  the  middle  of  a  wilderness  lake,  with  no  company 
whatever  except  a  family  of  mink,  who  are  his  enemies. 
He  had  probably  crossed  on  the  ice  in  the  late  spring, 
and  while  he  was  busy  here  and  there  with  his  explo- 
rations the  ice  broke  up,  cutting  off  his  retreat  to  the 
mainland,  which  was  too  far  away  for  his  swimming. 
So  he  was  a  prisoner  for  the  long  summer,  and 
welcomed  me  gladly  to  share  his  exile.  He  was  the 
only  red  squirrel  I  ever  met  that  never  scolded  me 
roundly  at  least  once  a  day.  His.  loneliness  had 
made  him  quite  tame.  Most  of  the  time  he  lived 
within  sight  of  my  tent  door.  Not  even  Simmo's 
axe,  though  it  made  him  jump  twice  from  the  top  of 
a  spruce,  could  keep  him  long  away.  He  had  twenty 


Meeko  the  Mis  chief -Maker  89 

ways  of  getting  up  an  excitement,  and  whenever  he 
barked  out  in  the  woods  I  knew  that  it  was  simply  to 
call  me  to  see  his  discovery, —  a  new  nest,  a  loon  that 
swam  up  close,  a  thieving  muskrat,  a  hawk  that  rested 
on  a  dead  stub,  the  mink  family  eating  my  fish  heads, 

—  and  when  I  stole  out  to  see  what  it  was,  he  would 
run  ahead,  barking  and  chuckling  at  having  some  one 
to  share  his  interests  with  him. 

In  such  places  squirrels  use  the  ice  for  occasional 
journeys  to  the  mainland.  Sometimes  also,  when  the 
waters  are  calm,  they  swim  over.  Hunters  have  told 
me  that  when  the  breeze  is  fair  they  make  use  of  a 
floating  bit  of  wood,  sitting  up  straight  with  tail 
curled  over  their  backs,  making  a  sail  of  their  bodies 

—  just  as  an   Indian,    with  no  knowledge  of  sailing 
whatever,  puts  a  spruce  bush  in  a  bow  of  his  canoe 
and  lets  the  wind  do  his  work  for  him. 

That  would  be  the  sight  of  a  lifetime,  to  see 
Meeko  sailing  his  boat ;  but  I  have  no  doubt  what- 
ever that  it  is  true.  The  only  red  squirrel  that  I 
ever  saw  in  the  water  fell  in  by  accident.  He  swam 
rapidly  to  a  floating  board,  shook  himself,  sat  up  with 
his  tail  raised  along  his  back,  and  began  to  dry  him- 
self. After  a  little  he  saw  that  the  slight  breeze  was 
setting  him  farther  from  shore.  He  began  to  chatter 
excitedly,  and  changed  his  position  two  or  three  times, 


90  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

evidently  trying  to  catch  the  wind  right.  Finding 
that  it  was  of  no  use,  he  plunged  in  again  and  swam 
easily  to  land. 

That  he  lives  and  thrives  in  the  wilderness,  spite 
of  enemies  and  hunger  and  winter  cold,  is  a  tribute 
to  his  wits.  He  never  hibernates,  except  in  severe 
storms,  when  for  a  few  days  he  lies  close  in  his  den. 
Hawks  and  owls  and  weasels  and  martens  hunt  him 
continually;  yet  he  more  than  holds  his  own  in  the 
big  woods,  which  would  lose  some  of  their  charm  if 
their  vast  silences  were  not  sometimes  broken  by  his 
petty  scoldings. 


As  with  most  wild  creatures,  the  squirrels  that  live 
in  touch  with  civilization  are  much  keener  witted  than 
their  wilderness  brethren.  The  most  interesting  one 
I  ever  knew  lived  in  the  trees  just  outside  my  dormi- 
tory window,  in  a  New  England  college  town.  He 
was  the  patriarch  of  a  large  family,  and  the  greatest 
thief  and  rascal  among  them.  I  speak  of  the  family, 


Meeko  the  Mischief -Maker  91 

but,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  there  was  very  little  family 
life.  Each  one  shifted  for  himself  the  moment  he 
was  big  enough,  and  stole  from  all  the  others  indis- 
criminately. 

It  was  while  watching  these  squirrels  that  I  dis- 
covered first  that  they  have  regular  paths  among  the 
trees,  as  well  defined  as  our  own  highways.  Not  only 
has  each  squirrel  his  own  private  paths  and  ways, 
but  all  the  squirrels  follow  certain  courses  along  the 
branches  in  going  from  one  tree  to  another.  Even 
the  strange  squirrels,  which  ventured  at  times  into 
the  grove,  followed  these  highways  as  if  they  had 
been  used  to  them  all  their  lives. 

On  a  recent  visit  to  the  old  dormitory  I  watched 
the  squirrels  for  a  while,  and  found  that  they  used 
exactly  the  same  paths,  —  up  the  trunk  of  a  big  oak 
to  a  certain  boss,  along  a  branch  to  a  certain  crook,  a 
jump  to  a  linden  twig  and  so  on,  making  use  of  one  of 
the  highways  that  I  had  watched  them  following  ten 
years  before.  Yet  this  course  was  not  the  shortest 
between  two  points,  and  there  were  a  hundred  other 
branches  that  they  might  have  used. 

I  had  the  good  fortune  one  morning  to  see  Meeko, 
the  patriarch,  make  a  new  path  for  himself  that  none 
of  the  others  ever  followed  so  long  as  I  was  in  the 
dormitory.  He  had  a  home  den  over  a  hallway,  and 


92  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

a  hiding  place  for  acorns  in  a  hollow  linden.  Between 
the  two  was  a  driveway;  but  though  the  branches 
arched  over  it  from  either  side,  the  jump  was  too  great 
for  him  to  take.  A  hundred  times  I  saw  him  run  out 
on  the  farthest  oak  twig  and  look  across  longingly  at 
the  maple  that  swayed  on  the  other  side.  It  was 
perhaps  three  feet  away,  with  no  branches  beneath  to 
seize  and  break  his  fall  in  case  he  missed  his  spring,  — 
altogether  too  much  for  a  red  squirrel  to  attempt.  He 
would  rush  out  as  if  determined  to  try  it,  time  after 
time,  but  always  his  courage  failed  him ;  he  had  to 
go  down  the  oak  trunk  and  cross  the  driveway  on  the 
ground,  where  numberless  straying  dogs  were  always 
ready  to  chase  him. 

One  morning  I  saw  him  run  twice  in  succession  at 
the  jump,  only  to  turn  back.  But  the  air  was  keen 
and  bracing,  and  he  felt  its  inspiration.  He  drew 
farther  back,  then  came  rushing  along  the  oak  branch 
and,  before  he  had  time  to  be  afraid,  hurled^  himself 
across  the  chasm.  He  landed  fairly  on  the  maple 
twig,  with  several  inches  to  spare,  and  hung  there  with 
claws  and  teeth,  swaying  up  and  down  gloriously. 
Then,  chattering  his  delight  at  himself,  he  ran  down 
the  maple,  back  across  the  driveway,  and  tried  the 
jump  three  times  in  succession  to  be  sure  he  could 
do  it. 


Meeko  the  Mischief -Maker  93 

After  that  he  sprang  across  frequently.  But  I 
noticed  that  whenever  the  branches  were  wet  with 
rain  or  sleet  he  never  attempted  it ;  and  he  never  tried 
the  return  jump,  which  was  uphill,  and  which  he 
seemed  to  know  by  instinct  was  too  much  to  attempt. 

When  I  began  feeding  him,  in  the  cold  winter  days, 
he  showed  me  many  curious  bits  of  his  life.  First  I 
put  some  nuts  near  the  top  of  an  old  well,  among  the 
stones  of  which  he  used  to  hide  things  in  the  autumn. 
Long  after  he  had  eaten  all  his  store  he  used  to  come 
and  search  the  crannies  among  the  stones  to  see  if 
perchance  he  had  overlooked  any  trifles.  When  he 
found  a  handful  of  shagbarks,  one  morning,  in  a  hole 
only  a  foot  below  the  surface,  his  astonishment  knew 
no  bounds.  His  first  thought  was  that  he  had  for- 
gotten them  all  these  hungry  days,  and  he  promptly 
ate  the  biggest  of  the  store  within  sight,  a  thing  I 
never  saw  a  squirrel  do  before.  His  second  thought 
—  I  could  see  it  in  his  changed  attitude,  his  sudden 
creepings  and  hidings  —  was  that  some  other  squirrel 
had  hidden  them  there  since  his  last  visit.  Where- 
upon he  carried  them  all  off  and  hid  them  in  a  broken 
linden  branch. 

Then  I  tossed  him  peanuts,  throwing  them  first  far 
away,  then  nearer  and  nearer  till  he  would  come  to 
my  window-sill.  And  when  I  woke  one  morning  he 


94  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

was  sitting  there  looking  in  at  the  window,  waiting  for 
me  to  get  up  and  bring  his  breakfast. 

In  a  week  he  had  showed  me  all  his  hiding  places. 
The  most  interesting  of  these  was  over  a  roofed 
piazza  in  a  building  near  by.  He  had  gnawed  a  hole 
under  the  eaves,  where  it  would  not  be  noticed,  and 
lived  there  in  solitary  grandeur  during  stormy  days 
in  a  den  four  by  eight  feet,  and  rain-proof.  In  one 
corner  was  a  bushel  of  corncobs,  some  of  them  two 
or  three  years  old,  which  he  had  stolen  from  a  corn- 
field near  by  in  the  early  autumn  mornings.  With 
characteristic  improvidence  he  had  fallen  to  eating 
the  corn  while  yet  there  was  plenty  more  to  be 
gathered.  In  consequence  he  was  hungry  before 
February  was  half  over,  and  living  by  his  wits,  like 
his  brother  of  the  wilderness. 

The  other  squirrels  soon  noticed  his  journeys  to 
my  window,  and  presently  they  too  came  for  their 
share.  Spite  of  his  fury  in  driving  them  away,  they 
managed  in  twenty  ways  to  circumvent  him.  It  was 
most  interesting,  while  he  sat  on  my  window-sill 
eating  peanuts,  to  see  the  nose  and  eyes  of  another 
squirrel  peering  over  the  crotch  of  the  nearest  tree, 
watching  the  proceedings  from  his  hiding  place. 
Then  I  would  give  Meeko  five  or  six  peanuts  at 
once.  Instantly  the  old  hiding  instinct  would  come 


Meeko  the  Mischief-Maker  95 

back;  he  would  start  away,  taking  as  much  of  his 
store  as  he  could  carry  with  him.  The  moment  he 
was  gone,  out  would  come  a  squirrel — sometimes  two 
or  three  from  their  concealment  —  and  carry  off  all  the 
peanuts  that  remained. 

Meeko's  wrath  when  he  returned  was  most  comical. 
The  Indian  legend  is  true  as  gospel  to  squirrel  nature. 
If  he  returned  unexpectedly  and  caught  one  of  the 
intruders,  there  was  always  a  furious  chase  and  a 
deal  of  scolding  and  squirrel  jabber  before  peace  was 
restored  and  the  peanuts  eaten. 

Once,  when  he  had  hidden  a  dozen  or  more  nuts  in 
the  broken  linden  branch,  a  very  small  squirrel  came 
prowling  along  and  discovered  the  store.  In  an 
instant  he  was  all  alertness,  peeking,  listening,  explor- 
ing, till  quite  sure  that  the  coast  was  clear,  when  he 
rushed  away  headlong  with  a  mouthful. 

He  did  not  return  that  day;  but  the  next  morning 
early  I  saw  him  do  the  same  thing.  An  hour  later 
Meeko  appeared  and,  finding  nothing  on  the  window- 
sill,  went  to  the  linden.  Half  his  store  of  yesterday 
was  gone.  Curiously  enough,  he  did  not  suspect  at 
first  that  they  were  stolen.  Meeko  is  always  quite 
sure  that  nobody  knows  his  secrets.  He  searched 
the  tree  over,  went  to  his  other  hiding  places,  came 
back,  counted  his  peanuts,  then  searched  the  ground 


96  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

beneath,  thinking,  no  doubt,  the  wind  must  have 
blown  them  out  —  all  this  before  he  had  tasted  a 
peanut  of  those  that  remained. 

Slowly  it  dawned  upon  him  that  he  had  been 
robbed  and  there  was  an  outburst  of  wrath.  But 
instead  of  carrying  what  were  left  to  another  place, 
he  left  them  where  they  were,  still  without  eating, 
and  hid  himself  near  by  to  watch.  I  neglected  a 
lecture  in  philosophy  to  see  the  proceedings,  but 
nothing  happened.  Meeko's  patience  soon  gave  out, 
or  else  he  grew  hungry,  for  he  ate  two  or  three  of 
his  scanty  supply  of  peanuts,  scolding  and  threaten- 
ing to  himself.  But  he  left  the  rest  carefully  where 
they  were. 

Two  or  three  times  that  day  I  saw  him  sneaking 
about,  keeping  a  sharp  eye  on  the  linden;  but  the 
little  thief  was  watching  too,  and  kept  out  of  the 
way. 

Early  next  morning  a  great  hubbub  rose  outside 
my  window,  and  I  jumped  up  to  see  what  was  going 
on.  Little  Thief  had  come  back,  and  Big  Thief 
caught  him  in  the  act  of  robbery.  Away  they  went 
pell-mell,  jabbering  like  a  flock  of  blackbirds,  along  a 
linden  branch,  through  two  maples,  across  a  driveway, 
and  up  a  big  elm  where  Little  Thief  whisked  out  of 
sight  into  a  knot  hole. 


Meeko  the  Mischief- Maker  97 

After  him  came  Big  Thief,  swearing  vengeance. 
But  the  knot  hole  was  too  small ;  he  could  n't  get  in. 
Twist  and  turn  and  push  and  threaten  as  he  would, 
he  could  not  get  in ;  and  Little  Thief  sat  just  inside 
jeering  maliciously. 

Meeko  gave  it  up  after  a  while  and  went  off,  nursing 
his  wrath.  But  ten  feet  from  the  tree  a  thought  struck 
him.  He  rushed  away  out  of  sight,  making  a  great 
noise,  then  came  back  quietly  and  hid  under  an  eave 
where  he  could  watch  the  knot  hole. 

Presently  Little  Thief  came  out,  rubbed  his  eyes, 
and  looked  all  about.  Through  my  glass  I  could  see 
Meeko  blinking  and  twitching  under  the  dark  eave, 
trying  to  control  his  anger.  Little  Thief  ventured  to 
a  branch  a  few  feet  away  from  his  refuge,  and  Big 
Thief,  unable  to  hold  himself  a  moment  longer,  rushed 
out,  firing  a  volley  of  direful  threats  ahead  of  him.  In 
a  flash  Little  Thief  was  back  in  his  knot  hole  and  the 
comedy  began  all  over  again. 

I  never  saw  how  it  ended;  but  for  a  day  or  two 
there  was  an  unusual  amount  of  chasing  and  scolding 
going  on  outside  my  windows. 

It  was  this  same  big  squirrel  that  first  showed  me  a 
curious  trick  of  hiding.  Whenever  he  found  a  hand- 
ful of  nuts  on  my  window-sill  and  suspected  that 
other  squirrels  were  watching  to  share  the  bounty,  he 


98  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

had  a  way  of  hiding  them  all  very  rapidly.  He  would 
never  carry  them  direct  to  his  various  garners;  first, 
because  these  were  too  far  away,  and  the  other  squirrels 
would  steal  while  he  was  gone ;  second,  because,  with 
hungry  eyes  watching  somewhere,  they  might  follow 
and  find  out  where  he  habitually  kept  things.  So 
he  used  to  hide  them  all  on  the  ground,  under  the 
leaves  in  autumn,  under  snow  in  winter,  and  all  within 
sight  of  the  window-sill,  where  he  could  watch  the 
store  as  he  hurried  to  and  fro.  Then,  at  his  leisure,  he 
would  dig  them  up  and  carry  them  off  to  his  den,  two 
cheekfuls  at  a  time. 

Each  nut  was  hidden  by  itself;  never  so  much  as 
two  in  one  spot.  For  a  long  time  it  puzzled  me  to 
know  how  he  remembered  so  many  places.  I  noticed 
first  that  he  would  always  start  from  a  certain  point,  a 
tree  or  a  stone,  with  his  burden.  When  it  was  hidden 
he  would  come  back  by  the  shortest  route  to  the 
window-sill;  but  with  his  new  mouthful  he  would 
always  go  first  to  the  tree  or  stone  he  had  selected, 
and  from  there  search  out  a  new  hiding  place. 

It  was  many  days  before  I  noticed  that,  starting 
from  one  fixed  point,  he  generally  worked  toward 
another  tree  or  stone  in  the  distance.  Then  his  secret 
was  out ;  he  hid  things  in  a  line.  Next  day  he  would 
come  back,  start  from  his  fixed  point  and  move  slowly 


Meeko  the  Mis  chief -Maker  99 

towards  the  distant  one  till  his  nose  told  him  he  was 
over  a  peanut,  which  he  dug  up  and  ate  or  carried 
away  to  his  den.  But  he  always  seemed  to  distrust 
himself;  for  on  hungry  days  he  would  go  over  two 
or  three  of  his  old  lines  in  the  hope  of  finding  a 
mouthful  that  he  had  overlooked. 

This  method  was  used  only  when  he  had  a  large 
supply  to  dispose  of  hurriedly,  and  not  always  then. 
Meeko  is  a  careless  fellow  and  soon  forgets.  When  I 
gave  him  only  a  few  to  dispose  of,  he  hid  them  helter- 
skelter  among  the  leaves,  forgetting  some  of  them 
afterwards  and  enjoying  the  rare  delight  of  stumbling 
upon  them  when  he  was  hungriest  —  much  like  a  child 
whom  I  saw  once  giving  himself  a  sensation.  He 
would  throw  his  penny  on  the  ground,  go  round  the 
house,  and  saunter  back  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
till  he  saw  the  penny,  which  he  pounced  upon  with 
almost  the  joy  of  treasure-trove  in  the  highwray. 

Meeko  made  a  sad  end  —  a  fate  which  he  deserved 
well  enough,  but  which  I  had  to  pity,  spite  of  myself. 
When  the  spring  came  on,  he  went  back  to  evil  ways. 
Sap  was  sweet  and  buds  were  luscious  with  the  first 
swelling  of  tender  leaves;  spring  rains  had  washed 
out  plenty  of  acorns  in  the  crannies  under  the  big  oak, 
and  there  were  fresh-roasted  peanuts  still  at  the  cor- 
ner window-sill  within  easy  jump  of  a  linden  twig; 


ioo  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

but  he  took  to  watching  the  robins  to  see  where  they 
nested,  and  when  the  young  were  hatched  he  came 
no  more  to  my  window.  Twice  I  saw  him  with 
fledgelings  in  his  mouth ;  and  I  drove  him  day  after 
day  from  a  late  clutch  of  robin's  eggs  that  I  could 
watch  from  my  study. 

He  had  warnings  enough.  Once  some  students, 
who  had  been  friendly  all  winter,  stoned  him  out  of 
a  tree  where  he  was  nest-robbing ;  once  the  sparrows 
caught  him  in  their  nest  under  the  high  eaves,  and 
knocked  him  off  promptly.  A  twig  upon  which  he 
caught  in  falling  saved  his  life  undoubtedly,  for  the 
sparrows  were  after  him  and  he  barely  escaped  into 
a  knot  hole,  leaving  the  angry  horde  clamoring  out- 
side. But  nothing  could  reform  him. 

One  morning  at  daylight  a  great  crying  of  robins 
brought  me  to  the  window.  Meeko  was  running 
along  a  limb,  the  first  of  the  fledgelings  in  his  mouth. 
After  him  were  five  or  six  robins  whom  the  parents' 
danger  cry  had  brought  to  the  rescue.  They  were  all 
excited  and  tremendously  in  earnest.  They  cried 
thief !  thief !  and  swooped  at  him  like  hawks.  Their 
cries  speedily  brought  a  score  of  other  birds,  some  to 
watch,  others  to  join  in  the  punishment. 

Meeko  dropped  the  young  bird  and  ran  for  his 
den;  but  a  robin  dashed  recklessly  in  his  face  and 


Meeko  the  Mis  chief -Maker  101 

knocked  him  fair  from  the  tree.  That  and  the  fall  of 
the  fledgeling  excited  the  birds  more  than  ever.  This 
thieving  bird-eater  was  not  invulnerable.  A  dozen 
rushed  at  him  on  the  ground  and  left  the  marks  of 
their  beaks  on  his  coat  before  he  could  reach  the 
nearest  tree. 

Again  he  rushed  for  his  den,  but  wherever  he 
turned  now  angry  wings  fluttered  over  him  and  beaks 
jabbed  in  his  face.  Raging  but  frightened,  he  sat  up 
to  snarl  wickedly.  Like  a  flash  a  robin  hurled  him- 
self down,  caught  the  squirrel  just  under  his  ear  and 
knocked  him  again  to  the  ground. 

Things  began  to  look  dark  for  Meeko.  The  birds 
grew  bolder  and  angrier  every  minute.  When  he 
started  to  climb  a  tree  he  was  hurled  off  twice  ere 
he  reached  a  crotch  and  drew  himself  down  into  it. 
He  was  safe  there  with  his  back  against  a  big  limb; 
they  could  not  get  at  him  from  behind.  But  the 
angry  clamor  in  front  frightened  him,  and  again  he 
started  for  his  place  of  refuge.  His  footing  was 
unsteady  now  and  his  head  dizzy  from  the  blows  he 
had  received.  Before  he  had  gone  half  a  limb's  length 
he  was  again  on  the  ground,  with  a  dozen  birds  peck- 
ing at  him  as  they  swooped  over. 

With  his  last  strength  he  snapped  viciously  at  his 
foes  and  rushed  to  the  linden.  My  window  was 


Secrets  of  the  Woods 

open,  and  he  came  creeping,  hurrying  towards  it  on 
the  branch  over  which  he  had  often  capered  so  lightly 
in  the  winter  days.  Over  him  clamored  the  birds, 
forgetting  all  fear  of  me  in  their  hatred  of  the  nest- 
robber. 

A  dozen  times  he  was  struck  on  the  way,  but  at 
every  blow  he  clung  to  the  branch  with  claws  and 
teeth,  then  staggered  on  doggedly,  making  no  defense. 
His  whole  thought  now  was  to  reach  the  window-sill. 

At  the  place  where  he  always  jumped  he  stopped 
and  began  to  sway,  gripping  the  bark  with  his  claws, 
trying  to  summon  strength  for  the  effort.  He  knew 
it  was  too  much,  but  it  was  his  last  hope.  At  the 
instant  of  his  spring  a  robin  swooped  in  his  face ; 
another  caught  him  a  side  blow  in  mid-air,  and  he 
fell  heavily  to  the  stones  below.  —  Sic  semper  tyran- 
nis !  yelled  the  robins,  scattering  wildly  as  I  ran 
down  the  steps  to  save  him,  if  it  were  not  too  late. 

He  died  in  my  hands  a  moment  later,  with  curious 
maliciousness  nipping  my  finger  sharply  at  the  last 
gasp.  He  was  the  only  squirrel  of  the  lot  who  knew 
how  to  hide  in  a  line ;  and  never  a  one  since  his  day 
has  taken  the  jump  from  oak  to  maple  over  the 
driveway. 


ALL  the  wild  birds  that  still  haunt  our 
remaining  solitudes,  the  ruffed  grouse  — 
the  pa'tridge  of  our  younger  days  —  is 
perhaps  the  wildest,  the  most  alert,  the  most  sug- 
gestive of  the  primeval  wilderness  that  we  have  lost. 
You  enter  the  woods  from  the  hillside  pasture,  loung- 
ing a  moment  on  the  old  gray  fence  to  note  the 
play  of  light  and  shadow  on  the  birch  bolls.  Your 
eye  lingers  restfully  on  the  wonderful  mixture  of  soft 
colors  that  no  brush  has  ever  yet  imitated,  the  rich 
old  gold  of  autumn  tapestries,  the  glimmering  gray- 
green  of  the  mouldering  stump  that  the  fungi  have 
painted.  What  a  giant  that  tree  must  have  been, 
generations  ago,  in  its  days  of  strength ;  how  puny 

the  birches  that  now  grow  out  of  its  roots  !     You 

103 


IO4  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

remember  the  great  canoe  birches  by  the  wilderness 
river,  whiter  than  the  little  tent  that  nestled  beneath 
them,  their  wide  bark  banners  waving  in  the  wind, 
soft  as  the  flutter  of  owls'  wings  that  swept  among 
them,  shadow-like,  in  the  twilight.  A  vague  regret 
steals  over  you  that  our  own  wilderness  is  gone,  and 
with  it  most  of  the  shy  folk  that  loved  its  solitudes. 

Suddenly  there  is  a  rustle  in  the  leaves.  Some- 
thing stirs  by  the  old  stump.  A  moment  ago  you 
thought  it  was  only  a  brown  root ;  now  it  runs,  hides, 
draws  itself  erect  —  Kwit,  kwit,  kwit !  and  with  a 
whirring  rush  of  wings  and  a  whirling  eddy  of  dead 
leaves  a  grouse  bursts  up,  and  darts  away  like  a  blunt 
arrow,  flint-tipped,  gray-feathered,  among  the  startled 
birch  stems.  As  you  follow  softly  to  rout  him  out 
again,  and  to  thrill  and  be  startled  by  his  unexpected 
rush,  something  of  the  Indian  has  come  unbidden 
into  your  cautious  tread.  All  regret  for  the  wilder- 
ness is  vanished;  you  are  simply  glad  that  so  much 
wildness  still  remains  to  speak  eloquently  of  the  good 
old  days. 

It  is  this  element  of  unconquerable  wildness  in 
the  grouse,  coupled  with  a  host  of  early,  half-fearful 
impressions,  that  always  sets  my  heart  to  beating,  as 
to  an  old  tune,  whenever  a  partridge  bursts  away  at 
my  feet.  I  remember  well  a  little  child  that  used  to 


The  Ol'  Beech  Pa  fridge  105 

steal  away  into  the  still  woods,  which  drew  him  by  an 
irresistible  attraction  while  as  yet  their  dim  arches 
and  quiet  paths  were  full  of  mysteries  and  haunting 
terrors.  Step  by  step  the  child  would  advance  into 
the  shadows,  cautious  as  a  wood  mouse,  timid  as  a 
rabbit.  Suddenly  a  swift  rustle  and  a  thunderous 
rush  of  something  from  the  ground  that  first  set  the 
child's  heart  to  beating  wildly,  and  then  reached  his 
heels  in  a  fearful  impulse  which  sent  him  rushing 
out  of  the  woods,  tumbling  headlong  over  the  old 
gray  wall,  and  scampering  halfway  across  the  pasture 
before  he  dared  halt  from  the  terror  behind.  And 
then,  at  last,  another  impulse  which  always  sent  the 
child  stealing  back  into  the  woods  again,  shy,  alert, 
tense  as  a  watching  fox,  to  find  out  what  the  fearful 
thing  was  that  could  make  such  a  commotion  in  the 
quiet  woods. 

And  when  he  found  out  at  last  —  ah,  that  was  a 
discovery  beside  which  the  panther's  kittens  are  as 
nothing  as  I  think  of  them.  One  day  in  the  woods, 
near  the  spot  where  the  awful  thunder  used  to  burst 
away,  the  child  heard  a  cluck  and  a  kwit-kwit,  and  saw 
a  beautiful  bird  dodging,  gliding,  halting,  hiding  in 
the  underbrush,  watching  the  child's  every  motion. 
And  when  he  ran  forward  to  put  his  cap  over  the  bird, 
it  burst  away,  and  then  —  whirr!  whirr!  whirr!  a 


io6  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

whole  covey  of  grouse  roared  up  all  about  him.  The 
terror  of  it  weakened  his  legs  so  that  he  fell  down  in 
the  eddying  leaves  and  covered  his  ears.  But  this 
time  he  knew  what  it  was  at  last,  and  in  a  moment 
he  was  up  and  running,  not  away,  but  fast  as  his  little 
legs  could  carry  him  after  the  last  bird  that  he  saw 
hurtling  away  among  the  trees,  with  a  birch  branch 
that  he  had  touched  with  his  wings  nodding  good-by 
behind  him. 

There  is  another  association  with  this  same  bird 
that  always  gives  an  added  thrill  to  the  rush  of  his 
wings  through  the  startled  woods.  It  was  in  the  old 
school  by  the  cross-roads,  one  sleepy  September  after- 
noon. A  class  in  spelling,  big  boys  and  little  girls, 
toed  a  crack  in  front  of  the  master's  desk.  The  rest 
of  the  school  droned  away  on  appointed  tasks  in  the 
drowsy  interlude.  The  fat  boy  slept  openly  on  his 
arms;  even  the  mischief-maker  was  quiet,  thinking 
dreamily  of  summer  days  that  were  gone.  Suddenly 
there  was  a  terrific  crash,  a  clattering  tinkle  of  broken 
glass,  a  howl  from  a  boy  near  the  window.  Twenty 
knees  banged  the  desks  beneath  as  twenty  boys 
jumped.  Then,  before  any  of  us  had  found  his  wits, 
Jimmy  Jenkins,  a  red-headed  boy  whom  no  calamity 
could  throw  off  his  balance  and  from  whom  no  oppor- 
tunity ever  got  away  free,  had  jumped  over  two  forms 


The  Ol'  Beech  Pa*  fridge  107 

and  was  down  on  the  floor  in  the  girls'  aisle,  gripping 
something  between  his  knees  — 

"  I  've  got  him,"  he  announced,  with  the  air  of  a 
general. 

"  Got  what  ?  "  thundered  the  master. 

"Got  a  pa'tridge;  he's  an  old  buster,"  said  Jimmy. 
And  he  straightened  up,  holding  by  the  legs  a  fine 
cock  partridge  whose  stiffening  wings  still  beat  his 
sides  spasmodically.  He  had  been  scared-up  in  the 
neighboring  woods,  frightened  by  some  hunter  out  of 
his  native  coverts.  When  he  reached  the  unknown 
open  places  he  was  more  frightened  still  and,  as  a 
frightened  grouse  always  flies  straight,  he  had  driven 
like  a  bolt  through  the  schoolhouse  window,  killing 
himself  by  the  impact. 

Rule-of -three  and  cube  root  and  the  unmapped 
wilderness  of  partial  payments  have  left  but  scant 
impression  on  one  of  those  pupils,  at  least ;  but  a  bird 
that  could  wake  up  a  drowsy  schoolroom  and  bring 
out  a  living  lesson,  full  of  life  and  interest  and  the 
subtile  call  of  the  woods,  from  a  drowsy  teacher  who 
studied  law  by  night,  but  never  his  boys  by  day, — 
that  was  a  bird  to  be  respected.  I  have  studied  him 
with  keener  interest  ever  since. 

Yet  however  much  you  study  the  grouse,  you  learn 
little  except  how  wild  he  is.  Occasionally,  when  you 


io8  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

are  still  in  the  woods  and  a  grouse  walks  up  to  your 
hiding  place,  you  get  a  fair  glimpse  and  an  idea  or 
two ;  but  he  soon  discovers  you,  and  draws  himself  up 
straight  as  a  string  and  watches  you  for  five  minutes 
without  stirring  or  even  winking.  Then,  outdone  at 
his  own  game,  he  glides  away.  A  rustle  of  little  feet 
on  leaves,  a  faint  kwit-kwit  with  a  question  in  it, 
and  he  is  gone.  Nor  will  he  come  back,  like  the 
fox,  to  watch  from  the  other  side  and  find  out  what 
you  are. 

Civilization,  in  its  first  advances,  is  good  to  the 
grouse,  providing  him  with  an  abundance  of  food  and 
driving  away  his  enemies.  Grouse  are  always  more 
numerous  about  settlements  than  in  the  wilderness. 
Unlike  other  birds,  however,  he  grows  wilder  and 
wilder  by  nearness  to  men's  dwellings.  I  suppose 
that  is  because  the  presence  of  man  is  so  often 
accompanied  by  the  rush  of  a  dog  and  the  report 
of  a  gun,  and  perhaps  by  the  rip  and  sting  of  shot  in 
his  feathers  as  he  darts  away.  Once,  in  the  wilder- 
ness, when  very  hungry,  I  caught  two  partridges  by 
slipping  over  their  heads  a  string  noose  at  the  end  of 
a  pole.  Here  one  might  as  well  try  to  catch  a  bat  in 
the  twilight  as  to  hope  to  snare  one  of  our  upland 
partridges  by  any  such  invention,  or  even  to  get  near 
enough  to  meditate  the  attempt. 


The  Or  Beech  Pa*  fridge  109 

But  there  was  one  grouse  —  and  he  the  very 
wildest  of  all  that  I  have  ever  met  in  the  woods  — 
who  showed  me  unwittingly  many  bits  of  his  life,  and 
with  whom  I  grew  to  be  very  well  acquainted  after  a 
few  seasons'  watching.  All  the  hunters  of  the  village 
knew  him  well ;  and  a  half-dozen  boys,  who  owned 
guns  and  were  eager  to  join  the  hunters'  ranks,  had  a 
shooting  acquaintance  with  him.  He  was  known  far 
and  wide  as  "the  ol'  beech  pa'tridge."  That  he  was 
old  no  one  could  deny  who  knew  his  ways  and  his 
devices;  and  he  was  frequently  scared-up  in  a  beech 
wood  by  a  brook,  a  couple  of  miles  out  of  the 
village. 

Spite  of  much  learned  discussion  as  to  different 
varieties  of  grouse,  due  to  marked  variations  in  color- 
ing, I  think  personally  that  we  have  but  one  variety, 
and  that  differences  in  color  are  due  largely  to  the 
different  surroundings  in  which  they  live.  Of  all 
birds  the  grouse  is  most  invisible  when  quiet,  his 
coloring  blends  so  perfectly  with  the  roots  and  leaves 
and  tree  stems  among  which  he  hides.  This  wonder- 
ful invisibility  is  increased  by  the  fact  that  he  changes 
color  easily.  He  is  darker  in  summer,  lighter  in 
winter,  like  the  rabbit.  When  he  lives  in  dark  woods 
he  becomes  a  glossy  red-brown;  and  when  his  haunt 
is  among  the  birches  he  is  often  a  decided  gray. 


no  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

This  was  certainly  true  of  the  old  beech  partridge. 
When  he  spread  his  tail  wide  and  darted  away  among 
the  beeches,  his  color  blended  so  perfectly  with  the 
gray  tree  trunks  that  only  a  keen  eye  could  separate 
him.  And  he  knew  every  art  of  the  dodger  perfectly. 
When  he  rose  there  was  scarcely  a  second  of  time 
before  he  had  put  a  big  tree  between  you  and  him,  so 
as  to  cover  his  line  of  flight.  I  don't  know  how  many 
times  he  had  been  shot  at  on  the  wing.  Every  hunter 
I  knew  had  tried  it  many  times ;  and  every  boy  who 
roamed  the  woods  in  autumn  had  sought  to  pot  him 
on  the  ground.  But  he  never  lost  a  feather;  and  he 
would  never  stand  to  a  dog  long  enough  for  the  most 
cunning  of  our  craft  to  take  his  position. 

When  a  brood  of  young  partridges  hear  a  dog 
running  in  the  woods,  they  generally  flit  to  the  lower 
branches  of  a  tree  and  kwit-kwit  at  him  curiously. 
They  have  not  yet  learned  the  difference  between 
him  and  the  fox,  who  is  the  ancient  enemy  of  their 
kind,  and  whom  their  ancestors  of  the  wilderness 
escaped  and  tantalized  in  the  same  way.  But  when  it  is 
an  old  bird  that  your  setter  is  trailing,  his  actions  are  a 
curious  mixture  of  cunning  and  fascination.  As  old 
Don  draws  to  a  point,  the  grouse  pulls  himself  up  rig- 
idly by  a  stump  and  watches  the  dog.  So  both  stand 
like  statues ;  the  dog  held  by  the  strange  instinct  which 


The  01'  Beech  Pa  fridge  1 1 1 

makes  him  point,  lost  to  sight,  sound  and  all  things 
else  save  the  smell  in  his  nose,  the  grouse  tense  as  a 
fiddlestring,  every  sense  alert,  watching  the  enemy 
whom  he  thinks  to  be  fooled  by  his  good  hiding.  For 
a  few  moments  they  are  motionless ;  then  the  grouse 
skulks  and  glides  to  a  better  cover.  As  the  strong 
scent  fades  from  Don's  nose,  he  breaks  his  point  and 
follows.  The  grouse  hears  him  and  again  hides  by 
drawing  himself  up  against  a  stump,  where  he  is  invis- 
ible ;  again  Don  stiffens  into  his  point,  one  foot  lifted, 
nose  and  tail  in  a  straight  line,  as  if  he  were  frozen 
and  could  not  move. 

So  it  goes  on,  now  gliding  through  the  coverts,  now 
still  as  a  stone,  till  the  grouse  discovers  that  so  long 
as  he  is  still  the  dog  seems  paralyzed,  unable  to  move 
or  feel.  Then  he  draws  himself  up,  braced  against 
a  root  or  a  tree  boll;  and  there  they  stand,  within 
twenty  feet  of  each  other,  never  stirring,  never  wink- 
ing, till  the  dog  falls  from  exhaustion  at  the  strain,  or 
breaks  it  by  leaping  forward,  or  till  the  hunter's  step 
on  the  leaves  fills  the  grouse  with  a  new  terror  that 
sends  him  rushing  away  through  the  October  woods 
to  deeper  solitudes. 

Once,  at  noon,  I  saw  Old  Ben,  a  famous  dog,  draw 
to  a  perfect  point.  Just  ahead,  in  a  tangle  of  brown 
brakes,  I  could  see  the  head  and  neck  of  a  grouse 


1 1 2  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

watching  the  dog  keenly.  Old  Ben's  master,  to  test 
the  splendid  training  of  his  dog,  proposed  lunch  on  the 
spot.  We  withdrew  a  little  space  and  ate  deliberately, 
watching  the  bird  and  the  dog  with  an  interest  that 
grew  keener  and  keener  as  the  meal  progressed,  while 
Old  Ben  stood  like  a  rock,  and  the  grouse's  eye  shone 
steadily  out  of  the  tangle  of  brakes.  Nor  did  either 
move  so  much  as  an  eyelid  while  we  ate,  and  Ben's 
master  smoked  his  pipe  with  quiet  confidence.  At 
last,  after  a  full  hour,  he  whacked  his  pipe  on  his  boot 
heel  and  rose  to  reach  for  his  gun.  That  meant  death 
for  the  grouse;  but  I  owed  him  too  much  of  keen 
enjoyment  to  see  him  cut  down  in  swift  flight.  In  the 
moment  that  the  master's  back  was  turned  I  hurled  a 
knot  at  the  tangle  of  brakes.  The  grouse  burst  away, 
and  Old  Ben,  shaken  out  of  his  trance  by  the  whirr  of 
wings,  dropped  obediently  to  the  charge  and  turned 
his  head  to  say  reproachfully  with  his  eyes :  "  What  in 
the  world  is  the  matter  with  you  back  there  —  did  n't 
I  hold  him  long  enough  ?  " 

The  noble  old  fellow  was  trembling  like  a  leaf 
after  the  long  strain  when  I  went  up  to  him  to  pat  his 
head  and  praise  his  steadiness,  and  share  with  him 
the  better  half  of  my  lunch.  But  to  this  day  Ben's 
master  does  not  know  what  started  the  grouse  so  sud- 
denly ;  and  as  he  tells  you  about  the  incident  will  still 


The  Or  Beech  Patridge  113 

say  regretfully :   "  I  ought  to  a-started  jest  a  minute 
sooner,  'fore  he  got  tired.     Then  I  'd  a  had  'im." 

The  old  beech  partridge,  however,  was  a  bird  of  a 
different  mind.  No  dog  ever  stood  him  for  more  than 
a  second ;  he  had  learned  too  well  what  the  thing 
meant.  The  moment  he  heard  the  patter  of  a  dog's 
feet  on  leaves  he  would  run  rapidly,  and  skulk  and 
hide  and  run  again,  keeping  dog  and  hunter  on  the 
move  till  he  found  the  cover  he 
wanted,  —  thick  trees,  or  a  tangle  of 
wild  grapevines.  —  when  he  would 


burst  out  on  the  farther  side.  And  no 
eye,  however  keen,  could  catch  more 
than  a  glimpse  of  a  gray  tail  before  he 
was  gone.  Other  grouse  make  short 
straight  flights,  and  can  be  followed  and  found  again ; 
but  he  always  drove  away  on  strong  wings  for  an 
incredible  distance,  and  swerved  far  to  right  or  left; 
so  that  it  was  a  waste  of  time  to  follow  him  up.  Before 
you  found  him  he  had  rested  his  wings  and  was  ready 
for  another  flight ;  and  when  you  did  find  him  he  would 
shoot  away  like  an  arrow  out  of  the  top  of  a  pine  tree 
and  give  you  never  a  glimpse  of  himself. 


H4  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

He  lived  most  of  the  time  on  a  ridge  behind  the 
'  Fales  place,'  an  abandoned  farm  on  the  east  of  the 
old  post  road.  This  *vas  his  middle  range,  a  place  of 
dense  coverts,  bullbrier  thickets  and  sunny  open  spots 
among  the  ledges,  where  you  might,  with  good-luck, 
find  him  on  special  days  at  any  season.  But  he  had 
all  the  migratory  instincts  of  a  Newfoundland  caribou. 
In  winter  he  moved  south,  with  twenty  other  grouse, 
to  the  foot  of  the  ridge,  which- dropped  away  into  a 
succession  of  knolls  and  ravines  and  sunny,  well-pro- 
tected little  valleys,  where  food  was  plenty.  Here,  fifty 
years  ago,  was  the  farm  pasture;  but  now  it  had  grown 
up  everywhere  with  thickets  and  berry  patches,  and 
wild  apple  trees  of  the  birds'  planting.  All  the  birds 
loved  it  in  their  season ;  quail  nested  on  its  edges ;  and 
you  could  kick  a  brown  rabbit  out  of  almost  any  of  its 
decaying  brush  piles  or  hollow  moss-grown  logs. 

In  the  spring  he  crossed  the  ridge  northward  again, 
moving  into  the  still  dark  woods,  where  he  had  two  or 
three  wives  with  as  many  broods  of  young  partridges ; 
all  of  whom,  by  the  way,  he  regarded  with  astonishing 
indifference. 

Across  the  whole  range  —  stealing  silently  out  of 
the  big  woods,  brawling  along  the  foot  of  the  ridge  and 
singing  through  the  old  pasture  —  ran  a  brook  that 
the  old  beech  partridge  seemed  to  love.  A  hundred 


The  Of  Beech  Pa  fridge  115 

times  I  started  him  from  its  banks.  You  had  only  to 
follow  it  any  November  morning  before  eight  o'clock, 
and  you  would  be  sure  to  find  him.  But  why  he 
haunted  it  at  this  particular  time  and  season  I  never 
found  out. 

I  used  to  wonder  sometimes  why  I  never  saw  him 
drink.  Other  birds  had  their  regular  drinking  places 
and  bathing  pools  there,  and  I  frequently  watched 
them  from  my  hiding;  but  though  I  saw  him  many 
times,  after  I  learned  his  haunts,  he  never  touched 
the  water. 

One  early  summer  morning  a  possible  explanation 
suggested  itself.  I  was  sitting  quietly  by  the  brook, 
on  the  edge  of  the  big  woods,  waiting  for  a  pool  to 
grow  quiet,  out  of  which  I  had  just  taken  a  trout  and 
in  which  I  suspected  there  was  a  larger  one  hiding. 
As  I  waited  a  mother-grouse  and  her  brood  —  one  of 
the  old  beech  partridge's  numerous  families  for  whom 
he  provided  nothing  —  came  gliding  along  the  edge 
of  the  woods.  They  had  come  to  drink,  evidently,  but 
not  from  the  brook.  A  sweeter  draught  than  that  was 
waiting  for  their  coming.  The  dew  was  still  clinging 
to  the  grass  blades ;  here  and  there  a  drop  hung  from 
a  leaf  point,  flashing  like  a  diamond  in  the  early  light. 
And  the  little  partridges,  cheeping,  gliding,  whistling 
among  the  drooping  stems,  would  raise  their  little 


n6  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

bills  for  each  shining  dewdrop  that  attracted  them, 
and  drink  it  down  and  run  with  glad  little  pipings 
and  gurglings  to  the  next  drop  that  flashed  an  invita- 
tion from  its  bending  grass  blade.  The  old  mother 
walked  sedately  in  the  midst  of  them,  now  fussing 
over  a  laggard,  now  clucking  them  all  together  in  an 
eager,  chirping,  jumping  little  crowd,  each  one  strug- 
gling to  be  first  in  at  the  death  of  a  fat  slug  she 
had  discovered  on  the  underside  of  a  leaf ;  and  anon 
reaching  herself  for  a  dewdrop  that  hung  too  high 
for  their  drinking.  So  they  passed  by  within  a  few 
yards,  a  shy,  wild,  happy  little  family,  and  disappeared 
into  the  shadow  of  the  big  woods. 

Perhaps  that  is  why  I  never  saw  the  old  beech  par- 
tridge drink  from  the  brook.  Nature  has  a  fresher 
draught,  of  her  own  distilling,  that  is  more  to  his 
tasting. 

Earlier  in  the  season  I  found  another  of  his  families 
near  the  same  spot.  I  was  stealing  along  a  wood  road 
when  I  ran  plump  upon  them,  scratching  away  at  an 
ant  hill  in  a  sunny  open  spot.  There  was  a  wild 
flurry,  as  if  a  whirlwind  had  struck  the  ant  hill ;  but  it 
was  only  the  wind  of  the  mother  bird's  wings,  whirling 
up  the  dust  to  blind  my  eyes  and  to  hide  the  scam- 
pering retreat  of  her  downy  brood.  Again  her  wings 
beat  the  ground,  sending  up  a  flurry  of  dead  leaves,  in 


The  Or  Beech  Pa' fridge  117 

the  midst  of  which  the  little  partridges  jumped  and 
scurried  away,  so  much  like  the  leaves  that  no  eye 
could  separate  them.  Then  the  leaves  settled  slowly 
and  the  brood  was  gone,  as  if  the  ground  had  swal- 
lowed them  up ;  while  Mother  Grouse  went  fluttering 
along  just  out  of  my  reach,  trailing  a  wing  as  if 
broken,  falling  prone  on  the  ground,  clucking  and 
kwitting  and  whirling  the  leaves  to  draw  my  attention 
and  bring  me  away  from  where  the  little  ones  were 
hiding. 

I  knelt  down  just  within  the  edge  of  woods,  whither 
I  had  seen  the  last  laggard  of  the  brood  vanish  like  a 
brown  streak,  and  began  to  look  for  them  carefully. 
After  a  time  I  found  one.  He  was  crouched  flat  on 
a  dead  oak  leaf,  just  under  my  nose,  his  color  hiding 
him  wonderfully.  Something  glistened  in  a  tangle  of 
dark  roots.  It  was  an  eye,  and  presently  I  could  make 
out  a  little  head  there.  That  was  all  I  could  find  of 
the  family,  though  a  dozen  more  were  close  beside  me, 
under  the  leaves  mostly.  As  I  backed  away  I  put  my 
hand  on  another  before  seeing  him,  and  barely  saved 
myself  from  hurting  the  little  sly-boots,  who  never 
stirred  a  muscle,  not  even  when  I  took  away  the  leaf 
that  covered  him  and  put  it  back  again  softly. 

Across  the  pathway  was  a  thick  scrub  oak,  under 
which  I  sat  down  to  watch.  Ten  long  minutes 


1 1 8  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

passed,  with  nothing  stirring,  before  Mother  Grouse 
came  stealing  back.  She  clucked  once  —  "  Careful !  " 
it  seemed  to  say ;  and  not  a  leaf  stirred.  She  clucked 
again  —  did  the  ground  open?  There  they  were,  a 
dozen  or  more  of  them,  springing  up  from  nowhere 
and  scurrying  with  a  thousand  cheepings  to  tell 
her  all  about  it.  So  she  gathered  them  all  close 
about  her,  and  they  vanished  into  the  friendly 
shadows. 

It  was  curious  how  jealously  the  old  beech  partridge 
watched  over  the  solitudes  where  these  interesting 
little  families  roamed.  Though  he  seemed  to  care 
nothing  about  them,  and  was  never  seen  near  one  of 
his  families,  he  suffered  no  other  cock  partridge  to 
come  into  his  woods,  or  even  to  drum  within  hearing. 
In  the  winter  he  shared  the  southern  pasture  peace- 
ably with  twenty  other  grouse;  and  on  certain  days 
you  might,  by  much  creeping,  surprise  a  whole  com- 
pany of  them  on  a  sunny  southern  slope,  strutting  and 
gliding,  in  and  out  and  round  about,  with  spread  tails 
and  drooping  wings,  going  through  all  the  movements 
of  a  grouse  minuet.  Once,  in  Indian  summer,  I  crept 
up  to  twelve  or  fifteen  of  the  splendid  birds,  who  were 
going  through  their  curious  performance  in  a  little 
opening  among  the  berry  bushes ;  and  in  the  midst  of 
them  —  more  vain,  more  resplendent,  strutting  more 


The  Or  Beech  Pa  fridge  119 

proudly  and  clucking  more  arrogantly  than  any 
other — was  the  old  beech  partridge. 

But  when  the  spring  came,  and  the  long  rolling 
drum-calls  began  to  throb  through  the  budding  woods, 
he  retired  to  his  middle  range  on  the  ridge,  and 
marched  from  one  end  to  the  other,  driving  every  other 
cock  grouse  out  of  hearing,  and  drubbing  him  soundly 
if  he  dared  resist.  Then,  after  a  triumph,  you  would 
hear  his  loud  drum-call  rolling  through  the  May  splen- 
dor, calling  as  many  wives  as  possible  to  share  his  rich 
living. 

He  had  two  drumming  logs  on  this  range,  as  I  soon 
discovered ;  and  once,  while  he  was  drumming  on  one 
log,  I  hid  near  the  other  and  imitated  his  call  fairly 
well  by  beating  my  hands  on  a  blown  bladder  that  I 
had  buttoned  under  my  jacket.  The  roll  of  a  grouse 
drum  is  a  curiously  muffled  sound ;  it  is  often  hard  to 
determine  the  spot  or  even  the  direction  whence  it 
comes ;  and  it  always  sounds  much  farther  away  than 
it  really  is.  This  may  have  deceived  the  old  beech 
partridge  at  first  into  thinking  that  he  heard  some 
other  bird  far  away,  on  a  ridge  across  the  valley  where 
he  had  no  concern ;  for  presently  he  drummed  again 
on  his  own  log.  I  answered  it  promptly,  rolling  back 
a  defiance,  and  also  telling  any  hen  grouse  on  the  range 
that  here  was  another  candidate  willing  to  strut  and 


i2O  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

spread  his  tail  and  lift  the  resplendent  ruff  about  his 
neck  to  win  his  way  into  her  good  graces,  if  she  would 
but  come  to  his  drumming  log  and  see  him. 

Some  suspicion  that  a  rival  had  come  to  his  range 
must  have  entered  the  old  beech  partridge's  head,  for 
there  was  a  long  silence  in  which  I  could  fancy  him 
standing  up  straight  and  stiff  on  his  drumming  log, 
listening  intently  to  locate  the  daring  intruder,  and 
holding  down  his  bubbling  wrath  with  difficulty. 

Without  waiting  for  him  to  drum  again,  I  beat  out 
a  challenge.  The  roll  had  barely  ceased  when  he  came 
darting  up  the  ridge,  glancing  like  a  bolt  among  the 
thick  branches,  and  plunged  down  by  his  own  log, 
where  he  drew  himself  up  with  marvelous  suddenness 
to  listen  and  watch  for  the  intruder. 

He  seemed  relieved  that  the  log  was  not  occu- 
pied, but  he  was  still  full  of  wrath  and  suspicion. 
He  glided  and  dodged  all  about  the  place,  looking 
and  listening ;  then  he  sprang  to  his  log  and,  without 
waiting  to  strut  and  spread  his  gorgeous  feathers 
as  usual,  he  rolled  out  the  long  call,  drawing  himself 
up  straight  the  instant  it  was  done,  turning  his  head 
from  side  to  side  to  catch  the  first  beat  of  his  rival's 
answer — "  Come  out,  if  you  dare;  drum,  if  you  dare. 
Oh,  you  coward  !  "  And  he  hopped,  five  or  six  high, 
excited  hops,  like  a  rooster  before  a  storm,  to  the 


The  Ol'  Beech  Pa  fridge  121 

other  end  of  the  log,  and  again  his  quick  throbbing 
drum-call  rolled  through  the  woods. 

Though  I  was  near  enough  to  see  him  clearly  with- 
out my  field  glasses,  I  could  not  even  then,  nor  at  any 
other  time  when  I  have  watched  grouse  drumming, 
determine  just  how  the  call  is  given.  After  a  little 
while  the  excitement  of  a  suspected  rival's  presence 
wore  away,  and  he  grew  exultant,  thinking  that  he  had 
driven  the  rascal  out  of  his  woods.  He  strutted  back 
and  forth  on  the  log,  trailing  his  wings,  spreading 
wide  his  beautiful  tail,  lifting  his  crest  and  his  resplen- 
dent ruff.  Suddenly  he  would  draw  himself  up ;  there 
would  be  a  flash  of  his  wings  up  and  down  that  no  eye 
could  follow,  and  I  would  hear  a  single  throb  of  his 
drum.  Another  flash  and  another  throb ;  then  faster 
and  faster,  till  he  seemed  to  have  two  or  three  pairs  of 
wings,  whirring  and  running  together  like  the  spokes 
of  a  swift-moving  wheel,  and  the  drumbeats  rolled 
together  into  a  long  call  and  died  away  in  the  woods. 

Generally  he  stood  up  on  his  toes,  as  a  rooster 
does  when  he  flaps  his  wings  before  crowing;  rarely 
he  crouched  down  close  to  the  log;  but  I  doubt  if  he 
beat  the  wood  with  his  wings,  as  is  often  claimed. 
Yet  the  two  logs  were  different;  one  was  dry  and 
hard,  the  other  mouldy  and  moss-grown ;  and  the 
drum-calls  were  as  different  as  the  two  logs.  After 


122  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

a  time  I  could  tell  by  the  sound  which  log  he  was 
using  at  the  first  beat  of  his  wings ;  but  that,  I  think, 
was  a  matter  of  resonance,  a  kind  of  sounding-board 
effect,  and  not  because  the  two  sounded  differently 
as  he  beat  them.  The  call  is  undoubtedly  made 
either  by  striking  the  wings  together  over  his  back 
or,  as  I  am  inclined  to  believe,  by  striking  them  on 
the  down  beat  against  his  own  sides. 

Once  I  heard  a  wounded  bird  give  three  or  four 
beats  of  his  drum-call,  and  when  I  went  into  the 
grapevine  thicket,  where  he  had  fallen,  I  found  him 
lying  flat  on  his  back,  beating  his  sides  with  his 
wings. 

Whenever  he  drums  he  first  struts,  because  he 
knows  not  how  many  pairs  of  bright  eyes  are  watch- 
ing him  shyly  out  of  the  coverts.  Once,  when  I  had 
watched  him  strut  and  drum  a  few  times,  the  leaves 
rustled,  and  two  hen  grouse  emerged  from  opposite 
sides  into  the  little  opening  where  his  log  was.  Then 
he  strutted  with  greater  vanity  than  before,  while  the 
two  hen  grouse  went  gliding  about  the  place,  search- 
ing for  seeds  apparently,  but  in  reality  watching  his 
every  movement  out  of  their  eye  corners,  and  admir- 
ing him  to  his  heart's  content. 

In  winter  I  used  to  follow  his  trail  through  the 
snow  to  find  what  he  had  been  doing,  and  what  he 


The  Or  Beech  Pa  fridge  123 

had  found  to  eat  in  nature's  scarce  time.  His  worst 
enemies,  the  man  and  his  dog,  were  no  longer  to  be 
feared,  being  restrained  by  law,  and  he  roamed  the 
woods  with  greater  freedom  than  ever.  He  seemed 
to  know  that  he  was  safe  at  this  time,  and  more  than 
once  I  trailed  him  up  to  his  hiding  and  saw  him 
whirr  away  through  the  open  woods,  sending  down  a 
shower  of  snow  behind  him,  as  if  in  that  curious 
way  to  hide  his  line  of  flight  from  my  eyes. 

There  were  other  enemies,  however,  whom  no  law 
restrained,  save  the  universal  wood-laws  of  fear  and 
hunger.  Often  I  found  the  trail  of  a  fox  crossing  his 
in  the  snow ;  and  once  I  followed  a  double  trail,  fox 
over  grouse,  for  nearly  half  a  mile.  The  fox  had 
struck  the  trail  late  the  previous  afternoon,  and  fol- 
lowed it  to  a  bullbrier  thicket,  in  the  midst  of  which 
was  a  great  cedar  in  which  the  old  beech  partridge 
roosted.  The  fox  went  twice  around  the  tree,  halting 
and  looking  up,  then  went  straight  away  to  the  swamp, 
as  if  he  knew  it  was  of  no  use  to  watch  longer. 

Rarely,  when  the  snow  was  deep,  I  found  the  place 
where  he,  or  some  other  grouse,  went  to  sleep  on  the 
ground.  He  would  plunge  down  from  a  tree  into  the 
soft  snow,  driving  into  it  head-first  for  three  or  four 
feet,  then  turn  around  and  settle  down  in  his  white 
warm  chamber  for  the  night.  I  would  find  the  small 


124  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

hole  where  he  plunged  in  at  evening,  and  near  it  the 
great  hole  where  he  burst  out  when  the  light  waked 
him.  Taking  my  direction  from  his  wing  prints  in 
the  snow,  I  would  follow  to  find  where  he  lit,  and  then 
trace  him  on  his  morning  wanderings. 

One  would  think  that  this  might  be  a  dangerous 
proceeding,  sleeping  on  the  ground  with  no  protection 
but  the  snow,  and  a  score  of  hungry  enemies  prowl- 
ing about  the  woods ;  but  the  grouse  knows  well  that 
when  the  storms  are  out  his  enemies  stay  close  at 
home,  not  being  able  to  see  or  smell,  and  therefore 
afraid  each  one  of  his  own  enemies.  There  is  always 
a  truce  in  the  woods  during  a  snowstorm ;  and  that 
is  the  reason  why  a  grouse  goes  to  sleep  in  the  snow 
only  while  the  flakes  are  still  falling.  When  the  storm 
is  over  and  the  snow  has  settled  a  bit,  the  fox  will 
be  abroad  again ;  and  then  the  grouse  sleeps  in  the 
evergreens. 

Once,  however,  the  old  beech  partridge  miscalcu- 
lated. The  storm  ceased  early  in  the  evening,  and 
hunger  drove  the  fox  out  on  a  night  when,  ordinarily, 
he  would  have  stayed  under  cover.  Sometime  about 
daybreak,  before  yet  the  light  had  penetrated  to  where 
the  old  beech  partridge  was  sleeping,  the  fox  found  a 
hole  in  the  snow,  which  told  him  that  just  in  front  of 
his  hungry  nose  a  grouse  was  hidden,  all  unconscious 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

or 


Thundered  away  to  the  safety  and  shelter  of  the  pines 


The  01'  Beech  Pa  fridge  125 

of  danger.  I  found  the  spot,  trailing  the  fox,  a  few 
hours  later.  How  cautious  he  was !  The  sly  trail 
was  eloquent  with  hunger  and  anticipation.  A  few 
feet  away  from  the  promising  hole  he  had  stopped, 
looking  keenly  over  the  snow  to  find  some  suspicious 
roundness  on  the  smooth  surface.  Ah  !  there  it  was, 
just  by  the  edge  of  a  juniper  thicket.  He  crouched 
down,  stole  forward,  pushing  a  deep  trail  with  his 
body,  settled  himself  firmly  and  sprang.  And  there, 
just  beside  the  hole  his  paws  had  made  in  the  snow, 
was  another  hole  where  the  grouse  had  burst  out, 
scattering  snow  all  over  his  enemy,  who  had  miscal- 
culated by  a  foot,  and  thundered  away  to  the  safety 
and  shelter  of  the  pines. 

There  was  another  enemy,  who  ought  to  have 
known  better,  following  the  old  beech  partridge  all 
one  early  spring  when  snow  was  deep  and  food  scarce. 
One  day,  in  crossing  the  partridge's  southern  range, 
I  met  a  small  boy,  —  a  keen  little  fellow,  with  the 
instincts  of  a  fox  for  hunting.  He  had  always  some- 
thing interesting  afoot,  —  minks,  or  muskrats,  or  a 
skunk,  or  a  big  owl,  —  so  I  hailed  him  with  joy. 
"  Hello,  Johnnie !  what  you  after  to-day  —  bears  ?  " 
But  he  only  shook  his  head  —  a  bit  sheepishly,  I 
thought  —  and  talked  of  all  things  except  the  one 
that  he  was  thinking  about ;  and  presently  he  vanished 


126  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

down  the  old  road.  One  of  his  jacket  pockets  bulged 
more  than  the  other,  and  I  knew  there  was  a  trap  in  it. 

Late  that  afternoon  I  crossed  his  trail  and,  having 
nothing  more  interesting  to  do,  followed  it.  It  led 
straight  to  the  bullbrier  thicket  where  the  old  beech 
partridge  roosted.  I  had  searched  for  it  many  times 
in  vain  before  the  fox  led  me  to  it;  but  Johnnie,  in 
some  of  his  prowlings,  had  found  tracks  and  a  feather 
or  two  under  a  cedar  branch,  and  knew  just  what  it 
meant.  His  trap  was  there,  in  the  very  spot  where, 
the  night  before,  the  old  beech  partridge  had  stood 
when  he  jumped  for  the  lowest  limb.  Corn  was  scat- 
tered liberally  about,  and  a  bluejay  that  had  followed 
Johnnie  was  already  fast  in  the  trap,  caught  at  the 
base  of  his  bill  just  under  the  eyes.  He  had  sprung 
the  trap  in  pecking  at  some  corn  that  was  fastened 
cunningly  to  the  pan  by  fine  wire. 

When  I  took  the  jay  carefully  from  the  trap  he 
played  possum,  lying  limp  in  my  hand  till  my  grip 
relaxed,  when  he  flew  to  a  branch  over  my  head, 
squalling  and  upbraiding  me  for  having  anything  to 
do  with  such  abominable  inventions. 

I  hung  the  trap  to  a  low  limb  of  the  cedar,  with  a 
note  in  its  jaws  telling  Johnnie  to  come  and  see  me 
next  day.  He  came  at  dusk,  shamefaced,  and  I  read 
him  a  lecture  on  fair  play  and  the  difference  between 


The  Or  Beech  Pa  fridge  127 

a  thieving  mink  and  an  honest  partridge.  But  he 
chuckled  over  the  bluejay,  and  I  doubted  the  with- 
holding power  of  a  mere  lecture  ;  so,  to  even  matters, 
I  hinted  of  an  otter  slide  I  had  discovered,  and  of  a 
Saturday-afternoon  tramp  together.  Twenty  times,  he 
told  me,  he  had  tried  to  snare  the  old  beech  partridge. 
When  he  saw  the  otter  slide  he  forswore  traps  and 
snares  for  birds ;  and  I  left  the  place,  soon  after,  with 
good  hopes  for  the  grouse,  knowing  that  I  had  spiked 
the  guns  of  his  most  dangerous  enemy. 

Years  later  I  crossed  the  old  pasture  and  went 
straight  to  the  bullbrier  tangle.  There  were  tracks 
of  a  grouse  in  the  snow,  —  blunt  tracks  that  rested 
lightly  on  the  soft  whiteness,  showing  that  Nature 
remembered  his  necessity  and  had  caused  his  new 
snowshoes  to  grow  famously.  I  hurried  to  the  brook, 
a  hundred  memories  thronging  over  me  of  happy  days 
and  rare  sights  when  the  wood  folk  revealed  their  little 
secrets.  In  the  midst  of  them  —  kwit  f  kwit !  and 
with  a  thunder  of  wings  a  grouse  whirred  away,  wild 
and  gray  as  the  rare  bird  that  lived  there  years  before. 
And  when  I  questioned  a  hunter,  he  said  :  "  That  ol' 
beech  pa'tridge  ?  Oh,  yes,  he 's  there.  He  '11  stay 
there,  too,  till  he  dies  of  old  age  ;  'cause  you  see, 
Mister,  there  ain't  nobody  in  these  parts  spry  enough 
to  ketch  'im." 


LOWING 
/THE  DEER* 

WAS  camping  one  summer  on  a  little  lake  — 
Deer  Pond,  the  natives  called  it  —  a  few  miles 
back  from  a  quiet  summer  resort  on  the  Maine 
coast.  Summer  hotels  and  mackerel  fishing  and  noisy 
excursions  had  lost  their  semblance  to  a  charm  ;  so  I 
made  a  little  tent,  hired  a  canoe,  and  moved  back 
into  the  woods. 

It  was  better  here.  The  days  were  still  and  long, 
and  the  nights  full  of  peace.  The  air  was  good,  for 
nothing  but  the  wild  creatures  breathed  it,  and  the 
firs  had  touched  it  with  their  fragrance.  The  far- 
away surge  of  the  sea  came  up  faintly  till  the  spruces 
answered  it,  and  both  sounds  went  gossiping  over 

the    hills    together.     On    all    sides  were    the  woods, 

128 


Following  the  Deer  129 

which,  on  the  north  especially,  stretched  away  over  a 
broken  country  beyond  my  farthest  explorations. 

Over  against  my  tenting  place  a  colony  of  herons 
had  their  nests  in  some  dark  hemlocks.  They  were 
interesting  as  a  camp  of  gypsies,  some  going  off  in 
straggling  bands  to  the  coast  at  daybreak,  others 
frogging  in  the  streams,  and  a  few  solitary,  patient, 
philosophical  ones  joining  me  daily  in  following 
the  gentle  art  of  Izaak  Walton.  And  then,  when  the 
sunset  came  and  the  deep  red  glowed  just  behind  the 
hemlocks,  and  the  gypsy  bands  came  home,  I  would 
see  their  sentinels  posted  here  and  there  among 
the  hemlock  tips  —  still,  dark,  graceful  silhouettes 
etched  in  sepia  against  the  gorgeous  afterglow  —  and 
hear  the  mothers  croaking  their  ungainly  babies  to 
sleep  in  the  tree  tops. 

Down  at  one  end  of  the  pond  a  brood  of  young 
black  ducks  were  learning  their  daily  lessons  in 
hiding ;  at  the  other  end  a  noisy  kingfisher,  an 
honest  blue  heron,  and  a  thieving  mink  shared  the 
pools  and  watched  each  other  as  rival  fishermen. 
Hares  by  night,  and  squirrels  by  day,  and  wood  mice 
at  all  seasons  played  round  my  tent,  or  .came  shyly 
to  taste  my  bounty.  A  pair  of  big  owls  lived  and 
hunted  in  a  swamp  hard  by,  who  hooted  dismally 
before  the  storms  came,  and  sometimes  swept  within 


130  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

the  circle  of  my  fire  at  night.  Every  morning  a 
raccoon  stopped  at  a  little  pool  in  the  brook  above 
my  tent,  to  wash  his  food  carefully  ere  taking  it  home. 
So  there  was  plenty  to  do  and  plenty  to  learn,  and 
the  days  passed  all  too  swiftly. 

I  had  been  told  by  the  village  hunters  that  there 
were  no  deer;  that  they  had  vanished  long  since, 
hounded  and  crusted  and  chevied  out  of  season,  till 
life  was  not  worth  the  living.  So  it  was  with  a  start 
of  surprise  and  a  thrill  of  new  interest  that  I  came 
upon  the  tracks  of  a  large  buck  and  two  smaller  deer 
on  the  shore  one  morning.  I  was  following  them 
eagerly  when  I  ran  plump  upon  Old  Wally,  the 
cunningest  hunter  and  trapper  in  the  whole  region. 

"  Sho !     Mister,  what  yer  follerin  ?  " 

"  Why,  these  deer  tracks,"  I  said  simply. 

Wally  gave  me  a  look  of  great  pity. 

"  Guess  you  're  green  —  one  o'  them  city  fellers, 
ain't  ye,  Mister?  Them  ere's  sheep  tracks  —  my 
sheep.  Wandered  off  int'  th'  woods  a  spell  ago,  and  I 
hain't  seen  the  tarnal  critters  since.  Came  up  here 
lookin'  for  um  this  mornin'." 

I  glanced  at  Wally's  fish  basket,  and  thought  of 
the  nibbled  lily  pads ;  but  I  said  nothing.  Wally 
was  a  great  hunter,  albeit  jealous ;  apt  to  think  of  all 
the  game  in  the  woods  as  being  sent  by  Providence 


Following  the  Deer  131 

to  help  him  get  a  lazy  living ;  and  I  knew  little,  about 
deer  at  that  time.  So  I  took  him  to  camp,  fed  him, 
and  sent  him  away. 

"  Kinder  keep  a  lookout  for  my  sheep,  will  ye, 
Mister,  down  't  this  end  o'  the  pond  ? "  he  said, 
pointing  away  from  the  deer  tracks.  "  If  ye  see  ary 
one,  send  out  word,  and  I  '11  come  and  fetch  'im. — 
Needn't  foller  the  tracks  though;  they  wander  like 
all  possessed  this  time  o'  year,"  he  added  earnestly 
as  he  went  away. 

That  afternoon  I  went  over  to  a  little  pond,  a  mile 
distant  from  my  camp,  and  deeper  in  the  woods. 
The  shore  was  well  cut  up  with  numerous  deer 
tracks,  and  among  the  lily  pads  everywhere  were 
signs  of  recent  feeding.  There  was  a  man's  track 
here  too,  which  came  cautiously  out  from  a  thick 
point  of  woods,  and  spied  about  on  the  shore,  and 
went  back  again  more  cautiously  than  before.  I 
took  the  measure  of  it  back  to  camp,  and  found 
that  it  corresponded  perfectly  with  the  boot  tracks 
of  Old  Wally.  There  were  a  few  deer  here,  undoubt- 
edly, which  he  was  watching  jealously  for  his  own 
benefit  in  the  fall  hunting. 

When  the  next  still,  misty  night  came,  it  found  me 
afloat  on  the  lonely  little  pond,  .with  a  dark  lantern 
fastened  to  an  upright  stick  just  in  front  of  me  in  the 


132  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

canoe.  In  the  shadow  of  the  shores  all  was  black  as 
Egypt;  but  out  in  the  middle  the  outlines  of  the 
pond  could  be  followed  vaguely  by  the  heavy  cloud 
of  woods  against  the  lighter  sky.  The  stillness  was 
intense;  every  slightest  sound,  —  the  creak  of  a 
bough  or  the  ripple  of  a  passing  musquash,  the 
plunk  of  a  water  drop  into  the  lake  or  the  snap 
of  a  rotten  twig,  broken  by  the  weight  of  clinging 
mist,  —  came  to  the  strained  ear  with  startling  sud- 
denness. Then,  as  I  waited  and  sifted  the  night 
sounds,  a  dainty  plop,  plop,  plop !  sent  the  canoe 
gliding  like  a  shadow  toward  the  shore  whence  the 
sounds  had  come. 

When  the  lantern  opened  noiselessly,  sending  a 
broad  beam  of  gray,  full  of  shadows  and  misty  lights, 
through  the  even  blackness  of  the  night,  the  deer 
stood  revealed  —  a  beautiful  creature,  shrinking  back 
into  the  forest's  shadow,  yet  ever  drawn  forward  by 
the  sudden  wonder  of  the  light. 

She  turned  her  head  towards  me,  and  her  eyes 
blazed  like  great  colored  lights  in  the  lantern's  reflec- 
tion. They  fascinated  me ;  I  could  see  nothing  but 
those  great  glowing  spots,  blazing  and  scintillating 
with  a  kind  of  intense  fear  and  wonder  out  of  -the 
darkness.  She  turned  away,  unable  to  endure  the 
glory  any  longer ;  then  released  from  the  fascination 


Stared  steadfastly  at  the  light 


Following  the  Deer  133 

of  her  eyes,  I  saw  her  hurrying  along  the  shore,  a 
graceful  living  shadow  among  the  shadows,  rubbing 
her  head  among  the  bushes  as  if  to  brush  away  from 
her  eyes  the  charm  that  dazzled  them. 

I  followed  a  little  way,  watching  every  move,  till 
she  turned  again,  and  for  a  longer  time  stared  stead- 
fastly at  the  light.  It  was  harder  this  time  to  break 
away  from  its  power.  She  came  nearer  two  or  three 
times,  halting  between  dainty  steps  to  stare  and 
wonder,  while  her  eyes  blazed  into  mine.  Then,  as 
she  faltered  irresolutely,  I  reached  forward  and  closed 
the  lantern,  leaving  lake  and  woods  in  deeper  dark- 
ness than  before.  At  the  sudden  release  I  heard  her 
plunge  out  of  the  water;  but  a  moment  later  she  was 
moving  nervously  among  the  trees,  trying  to  stamp 
herself  up  to  the  courage  point  of  coming  back  to 
investigate.  And  when  I  flashed  my  lantern  at  the 
spot  she  threw  aside  caution  and  came  hurriedly  down 
the  bank  again. 

Later  that  night  I  heard  other  footsteps  in  the 
pond,  and  opened  my  lantern  upon  three  deer,  a  doe, 
a  fawn  and  a  large  buck,  feeding  at  short  intervals 
among  the  lily  pads.  The  buck  was  wild ;  after  one 
look  he  plunged  into  the  woods,  whistling  danger  to 
his  companions.  But  the  fawn  heeded  nothing,  knew 
nothing  for  the  moment  save  the  fascination  of  the 


134  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

wonderful  glare  out  there  in  the  darkness.  Had  I 
not  shut  off  the  light,  I  think  he  would  have  climbed 
into  the  canoe  in  his  intense  wonder. 

I  saw  the  little  fellow  again,  in  a  curious  way,  a  few 
nights  later.  A  wild  storm  was  raging  over  the 
woods.  Under  its  lash  the  great  trees  writhed  and 
groaned  ;  and  the  "voices  " — that  strange  phenomenon 
of  the  forest  and  rapids  —  were  calling  wildly  through 
the  roar  of  the  storm  and  the  rush  of  rain  on  innu- 
merable leaves.  I  had  gone  out  on  the  old  wood 
road,  to  lose  myself  for  a  little  while  in  the  intense 
darkness  and  uproar,  and  to  feel  again  the  wild  thrill 
of  the  elements.  But  the  night  was  too  dark,  the 
storm  too  fierce.  Every  few  moments  I  would 
blunder  against  a  tree,  which  told  me  I  was  off  the 
road  ;  and  to  lose  the  road  meant  to  wander  all  night 
in  the  storm-swept  woods.  So  I  went  back  for  my 
lantern,  with  which  I  again  started  down  the  old  cart 
path,  a  little  circle  of  wavering,  jumping  shadows 
about  me,  the  one  gray  spot  in  the  midst  of  universal 
darkness. 

I  had  gone  but  a  few  hundred  yards  when  there 
was  a  rush  —  it  was  not  the  wind  or  the  rain  —  in  a 
thicket  on  my  right.  Something  jumped  into  the 
circle  of  light.  Two  bright  spots  burned  out  of  the 
darkness,  then  two  more;  and  with  strange  bleats  a 


Following  the  Deer  135 

deer  came  close  to  me  with  her  fawn.  I  stood  stock- 
still,  with  a  thrill  in  my  spine  that  was  not  altogether 
of  the  elements,  while  the  deer  moved  uneasily  back 
and  forth.  The  doe  wavered  between  fear  and  fasci- 
nation ;  but  the  fawn  knew  no  fear,  or  perhaps  he 
knew  only  the  great  fear  of  the  uproar  around  him  ; 
for  he  came  close  beside  me,  rested  his  nose  an 
instant  against  the  light,  then  thrust  his  head  be- 
tween my  arm  and  body,  so  as  to  shield  his  eyes, 
and  pressed  close  against  my  side,  shivering  with  cold 
and  fear,  pleading  dumbly  for  my  protection  against 
the  pitiless  storm. 

I  refrained  from  touching  the  little  thing,  for  no 
wild  creature  likes  to  be  handled,  while  his  mother 
called  in  vain  from  the  leafy  darkness.  When  I 
turned  to  go  he  followed  me  close,  still  trying  to 
thrust  his  face  under  my  arm  ;  and  I  had  to  close  the 
light  with  a  sharp  click  before  he  bounded  away 
down  the  road,  where  one  who  knew  better  than  I 
how  to  take  care  of  a  frightened  innocent  was,  no 
doubt,  waiting  to  receive  him. 

I  gave  up  everything  else  but  fishing  after  that, 
and  took  to  watching  the  deer;  but  there  was  little 
to  be  learned  in  the  summer  woods.  Once  I  came 
upon  the  big  buck  lying  down  in  a  thicket.  I  was 
following  his  track,  trying  to  learn  the  Indian 


136  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

trick  of  sign-trailing,  when  he  shot  up  in  front  of  me 
like  Jack-in-a-box,  and  was  gone  before  I  knew 
what  it  meant.  From  the  impressions  in  the  moss, 
I  concluded  that  he  slept  with  all  four  feet  under 
him,  ready  to  shoot  up  at  an  instant's  notice,  with 
power  enough  in  his  spring  to  clear  any  obstacle 
near  him.  And.  then  I  thought  of  the  way  a  cow 
gets  up,  first  one  end,  then  the  other,  rising  from 
the  fore  knees  at  last  with  puff  and  grunt  and  clack- 
ing of  joints ;  and  I  took  my  first  lesson  in  whole- 
some respect  for  the  creature  •  whom  I  already 
considered  mine  by  right  of  discovery,  and  whose 
splendid  head  I  saw,  in  anticipation,  adorning  the 
hall  of  my  house  —  to  the  utter  discomfiture  of 
Old  Wally. 

At  another  time  I  crept  up  to  an  old  road  beyond 
the  little  deer  pond,  where  three  deer,  a  mother  with 
her  fawn,  and  a  young  spike-buck,  were  playing. 
They  kept  running  up  and  down,  leaping  over  the 
trees  that  lay  across  the  road  with  marvelous  ease 
and  grace  —  that  is,  the  two  larger  deer.  The  little 
fellow  followed  awkwardly ;  but  he  had  the  spring  in 
him,  and  was  learning  rapidly  to  gather  himself  for 
the  rise,  and  lift  his  hind  feet  at  the  top  of  his  jump, 
and  come  down  with  all  fours  together,  instead  of 
sprawling  clumsily,  as  a  horse  does. 


Following  the  Deer  137 

I  saw  the  perfection  of  it  a  few  days  later.  I  was 
sitting  before  my  tent  door  at  twilight,  watching  the 
herons,  when  there  was  a  shot  and  a  sudden  crash 
over  on  their  side.  In  a  moment  the  big  buck 
plunged  out  of  the  woods  and  went  leaping  in  swift 
bounds  along  the  shore,  head  high,  antlers  back,  the 
mighty  muscles  driving  him  up  and  onward  as  if 
invisible  wings  were  bearing  him.  A  dozen  great 
trees  were  fallen  across  his  path,  one  of  which,  as  I 
afterwards  measured,  lay  a  clear  eight  feet  above  the 
sand.  But  he  never  hesitated  nor  broke  his  splendid 
stride.  He  would  rush  at  a  tree;  rise  light  and  swift 
till  above  it,  where  he  turned  as  if  on  a  pivot,  with 
head  thrown  back  to  the  wind,  actually  resting  an 
instant  in  air  at  the  very  top  of  his  jump ;  then  shoot 
downward,  not  falling  but  driven  still  by  the  impulse 
of  his  great  muscles.  When  he  struck,  all  four  feet 
were  close  together  ;  and  almost  quicker  than  the  eye 
could  follow  he  was  in  the  air  again,  sweeping  along 
the  water's  edge,  or  rising  like  a  bird  over  the  next 
obstacle. 

Just  below  me  was  a  stream,  with  muddy  shores  on 
both  sides.  I  looked  to  see  if  he  would  stog  himself 
there  or  turn  aside  ;  but  he  knew  the  place  better  than 
I,  and  that  just  under  the  soft  mud  the  sand  lay  firm 
and  sure.  He  struck  the  muddy  place  only  twice, 


1 38  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

once  ^n  either  side  the  fifteen-foot  stream,  sending 
out  a  light  shower  of  mud  in  all  directions ;  then, 
because  the  banks  on  my  side  were  steep,  he  leaped 
for  the  cover  of  the  woods  and  was  gone. 

I  thought  I  had  seen  the  last  of  him,  when  I  heard 
him  coming,  bump!  bump !  bump!  the  swift  blows  of 
his  hoofs  sounding  all  together  on  the  forest  floor. 
So  he  flashed  by,  between  me  and  my  tent  door, 
barely  swerved  aside  for  my  fire,  and  gave  me  another 
beautiful  run  down  the  old  road,  rising  and  falling 
light  as  thistle-down,  with  the  old  trees  arching  over 
him  and  brushing  his  antlers  as  he  rocketed  along. 

The  last  branch  had  hardly  swished  behind  him 
when,  across  the  pond,  the  underbrush  parted  cau- 
tiously and  Old  Wally  appeared,  trailing  a  long  gun. 
He  had  followed  scarcely  a  dozen  of  the  buck's  jumps 
when  he  looked  back  and  saw  me  watching  him  from 
beside  a  great  maple. 

"  Just  a-follerin  one  o'  my  tarnal  sheep.  Strayed 
off  day  'fore  yesterday.  Hain't  seen  'im,  hev  ye  ?  "  he 
bawled  across. 

"  Just  went  along ;  ten  or  twelve  points  on  his 
horns.  And  say,  Wally  "  — 

The  old  sinner,  who  was  glancing  about  furtively 
to  see  if  the  white  sand  showed  any  blood  stains, 
looked  up  quickly  at  the  changed  tone  — 


Following  the  Deer  139 

"  You  let  those  sheep  of  yours  alone  till  the  first  of 
October ;  then  I  '11  help  you  round  'em  up.  Just  now 
they're  worth  forty  dollars  apiece  to  the  state.  I  '11  see 
that  the  warden  collects  it,  too,  if  you  shoot  another." 

"  Sho  !  Mister,  I  ain't  a-shootin'  no  deer.  Hain't 
seen  a  deer  round  here  in  ten  year  or  more.  I  just 
took  a  crack  at  a  pa'tridge  'at  kwitted  at  me,  top  o'  a 
stump  "  — 

But  as  he  vanished  among  the  hemlocks,  trailing 
his  old  gun,  I  knew  that  he  understood  the  threat. 
To  make  the  matter  sure  I  drove  the  deer  out  of  the 
pond  that  night,  giving  them  the  first  of  a  series  of 
rude  lessons  in  caution,  until  the  falling  leaves  should 
make  them  wild  enough  to  take  care  of  themselves. 


STILL    HUNTING 


OCTOBER,  the  superb  month  for  one  who  loves 
the  forest,  found  me  again  in  the  same  woods,  this 
time  not  to  watch  and  learn,  but  to  follow  the  big 
buck  to  his  death.  Old  Wally  was  ahead  of  me  ;  but 
the  falling  leaves  had  done  their  work  well.  The 
deer  had  left  the  pond  at  his  approach.  Here  and 
there  on  the  ridges  I  found  their  tracks,  and  saw 


140  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

them  at  a  distance,  shy,  wild,  alert,  ready  to  take  care 
of  themselves  in  any  emergency.  The  big  buck  led 
them  everywhere.  Already  his  spirit,  grown  keen  in 
long  battle  against  his  enemies,  dominated  them  all. 
Even  the  fawns  had  learned  fear,  and  followed  it  as 
their  salvation. 

Then  began  the  most  fascinating  experience  that 
comes  to  one  who  haunts  the  woods  —  the  first,  thrill- 
ing, glorious  days  of  the  still-hunter's  schooling,  with 
the  frost-colored  October  woods  for  a  schoolroom, 
and  Nature  herself  for  the  all-wise  teacher.  Daylight 
found  me  far  afield,  while  the  heavy  mists  hung  low 
and  the  night  smells  still  clung  to  the  first  fallen 
leaves,  moving  swift  and  silent  through  the  chill 
fragrant  mistiness  of  the  lowlands,  eye  and  ear  alert 
for  every  sign,  and  face  set  to  the  heights  where  the 
deer  were  waiting.  Noon  found  me  miles  away  on 
the  hills,  munching  my  crust  thankfully  in  a  sunny 
opening  of  the  woods,  with  a  brook's  music  tinkling 
among  the  mossy  stones  at  my  feet,  and  the  gorgeous 
crimson  and  .green  and  gold  of  the  hillside  stretching 
down  and  away,  like  a  vast  Oriental  rug  of  a  giant's 
weaving,  to  the  flash  and  blue  gleam  of  the  distant 
sea.  And  everywhere  —  Nature's  last  subtle  touches 
to  her  picture  —  the  sense  of  a  filmy  veil  let  down 
ere  the  end  was  reached,  a  soft  haze  on  the  glowing 


Following  the  Deer  141 

hilltops,  a  sheen  as  of  silver  mist  along  the  stream 
in  the  valley,  a  fleecy  light-shot  cloud  on  the  sea,  to 
suggest  more,  and  more  beautiful,  beyond  the  veil. 

Evening  found  me  hurrying  homeward  through  the 
short  twilight,  along  silent  wood  roads  from  which 
the  birds  had  departed,  breathing  deep  of  the  pure  air 
with  its  pungent  tang  of  ripened  leaves,  sniffing  the 
first  night  smells,  listening  now  for  the  yap  of  a  fox, 
now  for  the  distant  bay  of  a  dog  to  guide  me  in  a 
short  cut  over  the  hills  to  where  my  room  in  the  old 
farmhouse  was  waiting. 

It  mattered  little  that,  far  behind  me  (though  not  so 
far  from  where  the  trail  ended),  the  big  buck  began  his 
twilight  wandering  along  the  ridges,  sniffing  alertly 
at  the  vanishing  scent  of  the  man  on  his  feeding 
ground.  The  best  things  that  a  hunter  brings  home 
are  in  his  heart,  riot  in  his  game  bag ;  and  a  free 
deer  meant  another  long  glorious  day  following  him 
through  the  October  woods,  making  the  tyro's  mis- 
takes, to  be  sure,  but  feeling  also  the  tyro's  thrill  and 
the  tyro's  wonder,  and  the  consciousness  of  growing 
power  and  skill  to  read  in  a  new  language  the  secrets 
that  the  moss  and  leaves  hide  so  innocently. 

There  was  so  much  to  note  and  learn  and  remem- 
ber in  those  days !  A  bit  of  moss  with  that  curiously 
measured  angular  cut  in  it,  as  if  the  wood  folk  had 


142  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

taken  to  studying  Euclid,  —  how  wonderful  it  was 
at  first !  The  deer  had  been  here ;  his  foot  drew 
that  sharp  triangle ;  and  I  must  measure  and  feel  it 
carefully,  and  press  aside  the  moss,  and  study  the 
leaves,  to  know  whether  it  were  my  big  buck  or  no, 
and  how  long  since  he  had  passed,  and  whether  he 
were  feeding  or  running  or  just  nosing  about  and 
watching  the  valley  below.  And  all  that  is  much  to 
learn  from  a  tiny  triangle  in  the  moss,  with  imaginary 
a,  b,  cs  clinging  to  the  dried  moss  blossoms. 

How  careful  one  had  to  be !  Every  shift  of  wind, 
every  cloud  shadow  had  to  be  noted.  The  lesson  of 
a  dewdrop,  splashed  from  a  leaf  in  the  early  morning  ; 
the  testimony  of  a  crushed  flower,  or  a  broken  brake, 
or  a  bending  grdss  blade  ;  the  counsel  of  a  bit  of  bark 
frayed  from  a  birch  tree,  with  a  shred  of  deer-velvet 
clinging  to  it,  —  all  these  were  vastly  significant  and 
interesting.  Every  copse  and  hiding  place  and  cathe- 
dral aisle  of  the  big  woods  in  front  must  be  searched 
with  quiet  eyes  far  ahead,  as  one  glided  silently  from 
tree  to  tree.  That  depression  in  the  gray  moss  of  a 
fir  thicket,  with  two  others  near  it  —  three  deer  lay 
down  there  last  night ;  no,  this  morning ;  no,  scarcely 
an  hour  ago,  and  the  dim  traces  along  the  ridge  show 
no  sign  of  hurry  or  alarm.  So  I  move  on,  following 
surely  the  trail  that,  only  a  few  days  since,  would  have 


Following  the  Deer  143 

been  invisible  as  the  trail  of  a  fish  in  the  lake  to  my 
unschooled  eyes,  searching,  searching  everywhere  for 
dim  forms  gliding  among  the  trees,  till  - —  a  scream,  a 
whistle,  a  rush  away !  And  I  know  that  the  bluejay, 
which  has  been  gliding  after  me  curiously  the  last 
ten  minutes,  has  fathomed  my  intentions  and  flown 
ahead  to  alarm  the  deer,  which  are  now  bounding 
away  for  denser  cover. 

I  brush  ahead  heedlessly,  knowing  that  caution 
here  only  wastes  time,  and  study  the  fresh  trail  where 
the  quarry  jumped  away  in  alarm.  Straight  down 
the  wind  it  .goes.  Cunning  old  buck !  He  has  no 
idea  what  Bluejay 's  alarm  was  about,  but  a  warning, 
whether  of  crow  or  jay  or  tainted  wind  or  snapping 
twig,  is  never  lost  on  the  wood  folk.  Now  as  he 
bounds  along,  cleaving  the  woods  like  a  living  bolt, 
yet  stopping  short  every  hundred  yards  or  so  to  whirl 
and  listen  and  sort  the  messages  that  the  wood  wires 
bring  to  him,  he  is  perfectly  sure  of  himself  and 
his  little  flock,  knowing  that  if  danger  follow  down 
wind,  his  own  nose  will  tell  him  all  about  it.  I 
glance  at  the  sun  ;  only  another  hour  of  light,  and 
I  am  six  miles  from  home.  I  glance  at  the  jay, 
flitting  about  restlessly  in  a  mixture  of  mischief  and 
curiosity,  whistling  his  too-loo-loo  loudly  as  a  sign  to 
the  fleeing  game  that  I  am  right  here  and  that 


144  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

he  sees  me.  Then  I  take  up  the  back  trail,  planning 
another  day. 

So  the  days  went  by,  one  after  another;  the  big 
buck,  aided  by  his  friends  the  birds,  held  his  own 
against  my  craft  and  patience.  He  grew  more  wild 
and  alert  with  every  hunt,  and  kept  so  far  ahead  of 
me  that  only  once,  before  the  snow  blew,  did  I  have 
even  the  chance  of  stalking  him,  and  then  the  cunning 
old  fellow  foiled  me  again  masterfully. 

Old  Wally  was  afield  too;  but,  so  far  as  I  could 
read  from  the  woods'  record,  he  fared  no  better  than 
I  on  the  trail  of  the  buck.  Once,  when  I  knew  my 
game  was  miles  ahead,  I  heard  the  long-drawn  whang 
of  Wally's  old  gun  across  a  little  valley.  Presently 
the  brush  began  to  crackle,  and  a  small  doe  came 
jumping  among  the  trees  straight  towards  me. 
Within  thirty  feet  she  saw  me,  caught  herself  at  the 
top  of  her  jump,  came  straight  down,  and  stood  an 
instant  as  if  turned  to  stone,  with  a  spruce  branch 
bending  over  to  hide  her  from  my  eyes.  Then,  when 
I  moved  not,  having  no  desire  to  kill  a  doe  but  only 
to  watch  the  beautiful  creature,  she  turned,  glided  a 
few  steps,  and  went  bounding  away  along  the  ridge. 

Old  Wally  came  in  a  little  while,  not  following  the 
trail,  —  he  had  no  skill  nor  patience  for  that,  —  but 
with  a  woodsman's  instinct  following  up  the  general 


Following  the  Deer  145 

direction  of  his  game.  Not  far  from  where  the  doe 
had  first  appeared  he  stopped,  looked  all  around 
keenly,  then  rested  his  hands  on  the  end  of  his  long 
gun  barrel,  and  put  his  chin  on  his  hands. 

"Drat  it  all!  Never  tetched  'im  again.  That 
paowder  o'  mine  hain't  wuth  a  cent.  You  wait  till 
snow  blows,"  —  addressing  the  silent  woods  at  large, — 
"  then  I  '11  get  me  some  paowder  as  is  paowder,  and 
foller  the  critter,  and  I  '11  show  ye  " — 

Old  Wally  said  never  a  word,  but  all  this  was  in 
his  face  and  attitude  as  he  leaned  moodily  on  his 
long  gun.  And  I  watched  him,  chuckling,  from  my 
hiding  among  the  rocks,  till  with  curious  instinct  he 
vanished  down  the  ridge  behind  the  very  thicket 
where  I  had  seen  the  doe  flash  out  of  sight  a 
moment  before. 

When  I  saw  him  again  he  was  deep  in  less  credi- 
table business.  It  was  a  perfect  autumn  day,  —  the 
air  full  of  light  and  color,  the  fragrant  woods  resting 
under  the  soft  haze  like  a  great  bouquet  of  Nature's 
own  culling,  birds,  bees  and  squirrels  frolicking,  all 
day  long  amidst  the  trees,  yet  doing  an  astonishing 
amount  of  work  in  gathering  each  one  his  harvest 
for  the  cold  dark  days,  that  were  coming. 

At  daylight,  from  the  top  of  a  hill,  I  looked  down  on 
a  little  clearing  and  saw  the  first  signs  of  the  game  I 


146  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

was  seeking.  There  had  been  what  old  people  call  a 
duck-frost.  In  the  meadows  and  along  the  fringes 
of  the  woods  the  white  rime  lay  thick  and  powdery 
on  grass  and  dead  leaves ;  every  foot  that  touched  it 
left  a  black  mark,  as  if  seared  with  a  hot  iron,  when 
the  sun  came  up  and  shone  upon  it.  Across  the  field 
three  black  trails  meandered  away  from  the  brook ; 
but  alas  !  under  the  fringe  of  evergreen  was  another 
trail,  that  of  a  man,  which  crept  and  halted  and  hid, 
yet  drew  nearer  and  nearer  the  point  where  the  three 
deer  trails  vanished  into  the  wood.  Then  I  found 
powder  marks,  and  some  brush  that  was  torn  by  buck- 
shot, and  three  trails  that  bounded  away,  and  a  tiny 
splash  of  deeper  red  on  a  crimson  maple  leaf.  So  I 
left  the  deer  to  the  early  hunter  and  wandered  away 
up  the  hill  for  a  long,  lazy,  satisfying  day  in  the  woods 
alone. 

Presently  I  came  to  a  low  brush  fence  running 
zigzag  through  the  woods,  with  snares  set  every  few 
yards  in  the  partridge  and  rabbit  runs.  At  the  third 
opening  a  fine  cock  partridge  swung  limp  and  lifeless 
from  a  twitch-up.  The  cruel  wire  had  torn  his  neck 
under  his  beautiful  ruff;  the  broken  wing  quills 
showed  how  terrible  had  been  his  struggle.  Hung 
by  the  neck  till  dead !  —  an  atrocious  fate  to  mete  out 
to  a  noble  bird.  I  followed  the  hedge  of  snares  for  a 


Following  the  Deer  147 

couple  of  hundred  yards,  finding  three  more  strangled 
grouse  and  a  brown  rabbit.  Then  I  sat  down  in  a 
beautiful  spot  to  watch  the  life  about  me,  and  to 
catch  the  snarer  at  his  abominable  work. 

The  sun  climbed  higher  and  blotted  out  the  four 
trails  in  the  field  below.  Red  squirrels  came  down 
close  to. my  head  to  chatter  and  scold  and  drive  me 
out  of  the  solitude.  A  beautiful  gray  squirrel  went 
tearing  by  among  the  branches,  pursued  by  one  of 
the  savage  little  reds  that  nipped  and  snarled  at  his 
heels.  The  two  cannot  live  together,  and  the  gray 
must  always  go.  Jays  stopped  spying  on  the  squirrels 
—  to  see  and  remember  where  their  winter  stores 
were  hidden  —  and  lingered  near  me,  whistling  their 
curiosity  at  the  silent  man  below.  None  but  jays 
gave  any  heed  to  the  five  grim  corpses  swinging  by 
their  necks  over  the  deadly  hedge,  and  to  them  it 
was  only  a  new  sensation. 

Then  a  cruel  thing  happened,  —  one  of  the  many 
tragedies  that  pass  unnoticed  in  the  woods.  There 
was  a  scurry  in  the  underbrush,  and  strange  cries  like 
those  of  an  agonized  child,  only  tiny  and  distant,  as 
if  heard  in  a  phonograph.  Over  the  sounds  a  crow 
hovered  and  rose  and  fell,  in  his  intense  absorption 
seeing  nothing  but  the  creature  below.  Suddenly  he 
swooped  like  a  hawk  into  a  thicket,  and  out  of  the 


148  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

cover  sprang  a  leveret  (young  hare),  only  to  crouch 
shivering  in  the  open  space  under  a  hemlock's  droop- 
ing branches.  There  the  crow  headed  "him,  struck 
once,  twice,  three  times,  straight  hard  blows  with  his 
powerful  beak ;  and  when  I  ran  to  the  spot  the 
leveret  lay  quite  dead  with  his  skull  split,  while  the 
crow  went  flapping  wildly  to  the  tree  tops,  giving 
the  danger  cry  to  the  flock  that  was  gossiping  in  the 
sunshine  on  the  ridge  across  the  valley. 

The  woods  were  all  still  after  that ;  jays  and 
squirrels  seemed  appalled  at  the  tragedy,  and  avoided 
me  as  if  I  were  responsible  for  the  still  little  body 
under  the  hemlock  tips.  An  hour  passed ;  then,  a 
quarter-mile  away,  in  the  direction  that  the  deer  had 
taken  in  the  early  morning,  a  single  jay  set  up  his 
cry,  the  cry  of  something  new  passing  in  the  woods. 
Two  or  three  others  joined  him ;  the  cry  came  nearer. 
A  flock  of  crossbills  went  whistling  overhead,  coming 
from  the  same  direction.  Then,  as  I  slipped  away 
into  an  evergreen  thicket,  a  partridge  came  whirring 
up,  and  darted  by  me  like  a  brown  arrow  driven  by 
the  bending  branches  behind  him,  flicking  the  twigs 
sharply  with  his  wings  as  he  drove  along.  And  then, 
on  the  path  of  his  last  forerunner,  Old  Wally  appeared, 
his  keen  eyes  searching  his  murderous  gibbet-line 
expectantly. 


Following  the  Deer  149 

Now  Old  Wally  was  held  in  great  reputation  by  the 
Nimrods  of  the  village,  because  he  hunted  partridges, 
not  with  "  scatter-gun  "  and  dog,  —  such  amateurish 
bungling  he  disdained  and  swore  against,  —  but  in 
the  good  old-fashioned  way  of  stalking  with  a  rifle. 
And  when  he  brought  his  bunch  of  birds  to  market, 
his  admirers  pointed  with  pride  to  the  marks  of  his 
wondrous  skill.  Here  was  a  bird  with  the  head  hang- 
ing by  a  thread  of  skin  ;  there  one  with  its  neck  broken  ; 
there  a  furrow  along  the  top  of  the  head ;  and  here  — 
perfect  work !  —  a  partridge  with  both  eyes  gone, 
showing  the  course  of  his  unerring  bullet. 

Not  ten  yards  from  my  hiding  place  he  took  down 
a  partridge  from  its  gallows,  fumbled  a  pointed  stick 
out  of  his  pocket,  ran  it  through  the  bird's  neck, 
and  stowed  the  creature  that  had  died  miserably, 
without  a  chance  for  its  life,  away  in  one  of  his  big 
pockets,  a  self-satisfied  grin  on  his  face  as  he  glanced 
down  the  hedge  and  saw  another  bird  swinging.  So 
he  followed  his  hangman's  hedge,  treating  each  bird 
to  his  pointed  stick,  carefully  resetting  the  snares 
after  him  and  clearing  away  the  fallen  leaves  from 
the  fatal  pathways.  When  he  came  to  the  rabbit 
he  harled  him  dexterously,  slipped  him  over  his  long 
gun  barrel,  took  his  bearings  in  a  quick  look,  and 
struck  over  the  ridge  for  another  southern  hillside. 


1 50  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

Here,  at  last,  was  the  secret  of  Wally's  boasted 
skill  in  partridge  hunting  with  a  rifle.  Spite  of  my 
indignation  at  the  snare  line,  the  cruel  death  which 
gaped  day  and  night  for  the  game  as  it  ran  about 
heedlessly  in  the  fancied  security  of  its  own  coverts, 
a  humorous,  half  shame-faced  feeling  of  admiration 
would  creep  in  as  I  thought  of  the  old  sinner's  cun- 
ning, and  remembered  his  look  of  disdain  when  he 
met  me  one  day,  with  a  "  scatter-gun  "  in  my  hands 
and  old  Don  following  obediently  at  heel.  Thinking 
that  in  his  long  life  he  must  have  learned  many 
things  in  the  woods  that  I  would  be  glad  to  know,  I 
had  invited  him  cordially  to  join  me.  But  he  only 
withered  me  with  the  contempt  in  his  hawk  eyes,  and 
wiggled  his  toe  as  if  holding  back  a  kick  from  my 
honest  dog  with  difficulty. 

"  Go  hunting  with  ye  ?  Not  much,  Mister.  Scarin' 
a  pa'tridge  to  death  with  a  dum  dog,  and  then  turnin' 
a  handful  o'  shot  loose  on  the  critter,  an'  call  it 
huntin' !  That 's  the  way  to  kill  a  pa'tridge,  the  on'y 
decent  way"  —  and  he  pulled  a  bird  out  of  his  pocket, 
pointing  to  a  clean  hole  through  the  head  where  the 
eyes  had  been. 

When  he  had  gone  I  kicked  the  hedge  to  pieces 
quickly,  cut  the  twitch-ups  at  the  butts  and  threw 
them  with  their  wire  nooses  far  into  the  thickets,  and 


Following  the  Deer  151 

posted  a  warning  in  a  cleft  stick  on  the  site  of  the 
last  gibbet.  Then  I  followed  Wally  to  a  second  and 
third  line  of  snares,  which  were  treated  in  the  same 
rough  way,  and  watched  him  with  curiously  mingled 
feelings  of  detestation  and  amusement  as  he  sneaked 
down  the  dense  hillside  with  tread  light  as  Leather- 
stocking,  the  old  gun  over  his  shoulder,  his  pockets 
bulging  enormously,  and  a  string  of  hanged  rabbits 
swinging  to  and  fro  on  his  gun  barrel,  as  if  in  death 
they  had  caught  the  dizzy  motion  and  could  not  quit 
it  while  the. woods  they  had  loved  and  lived  in  threw 
their  long  sad  shadows  over  them.  So  they  came  to 
the  meadow,  into  which  they  had  so  often  come  limp- 
ing down  to  play  or  feed  among  the  twilight  shadows, 
and  crossed  it  for  the  last  time  on  Wally's  gun  barrel, 
swinging,  swinging. 

The  leaves  were  falling  thickly  now ;  they  formed 
a  dry,  hard  carpet  over  which  it  was  impossible  to 
follow  game  accurately,  and  they  rustled  a  sharp 
warning  underfoot  if  but  a  wood  mouse  ran  over 
them.  It  was  of  little  use  to  still-hunt  the  wary  old 
buck  till  the  rains  should  soften  the  carpet,  or  a  snow- 
fall make  tracking  like  boys'  play.  But  I  tried  it 
once  more ;  found  the  quarry  on  a  ridge  deep  in  the 
woods,  and  followed  —  more  by  good-luck  than  by 
good  management  —  till,  late  in  the  afternoon,  I  saw 


152  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

the  buck  with  two  smaller  deer  standing  far  away  on 
a  half-cleared  hillside,  quietly  watching  a  wide  stretch 
of  country  below.  Beyond  them  the  ridge  narrowed 
gradually  to  a  long  neck,  ending  in  a  high  open  bluff 
above  the  river. 

There  I  tried  my  last  hunter's  dodge  —  manceu- 
vered  craftily  till  near  the  deer,  which  were  hidden 
by  dense  thickets,  and  rushed  straight  at  them,  think- 
ing they  would  either  break  away  down  the  open 
hillside,  and  so  give  me  a  running  shot,  or  else  rush 
straightaway  at  the  sudden  alarm  and  be  caught  on 
the  bluff  beyond. 

Was  it  simple  instinct,  I  wonder,  or  did  the  buck 
that  had  grown  old  in  hunter's  wiles  feel  what  was 
passing  in  my  mind,  and  like  a  flash  take  the  chance 
that  would  save,  not  only  his  own  life,  but  the  lives  of 
the  two  that  followed  him  ?  At  the  first  alarm  they 
separated ;  the  two  smaller  deer  broke  away  down 
the  hillside,  giving  me  as  pretty  a  shot  as  one  could 
wish.  But  I  scarcely  noticed  them  ;  my  eyes  were 
following  eagerly  a  swift  waving  of  brush  tops,  which 
told  me  that  the  big  buck  was  jumping  away,  straight 
into  the  natural  trap  ahead. 

I  followed  on  the  run  till  the  ridge  narrowed  so 
that  I  could  see  across  it  on  either  side,  then  slowly, 
carefully,  steadying  my  nerves  for  the  shot.  The 


Following  the  Deer  153 

river  was  all  about  him  now,  too  wide  to  jump,  too 
steep-banked  to  climb  down ;  the  only  way  out  was 
past  me.  I  gripped  the  rifle  hard,  holding  it  at  a 
ready  as  I  moved  forward,  watching  either  side  for 
a  slinking  form  among  the  scattered  coverts.  At  last, 
at  last !  and  how  easy,  how  perfectly  I  had  trapped 
him !  My  heart  was  singing  as  I  stole  along. 

The  tracks  moved  straight  on ;  first  an  easy  run, 
then  a  swift,  hard  rush  as  they  approached  the  river. 
But  what  was  this  ?  The  whole  end  of  the  bluff  was 
under  my  eye,  and  no  buck  standing  at  bay  or  running 
wildly  along  the  bank  to  escape.  The  tracks  moved 
straight  on  to  the  edge  in  great  leaps ;  my  heart 
quickened  its  beat  as  if  I  were  nerving  myself  for  a 
supreme  effort.  Would  he  do  it  ?  would  he  dare  ? 

A  foot  this  side  the  brink  the  lichens  were  torn  away 
where  the  sharp  hoofs  had  cut  down  to  solid  earth. 
Thirty  feet  away,  well  over  the  farther  bank  and  ten 
feet  below  the  level  where  I  stood,  the  fresh  earth 
showed  clearly  among  the  hoof-torn  moss.  Far  below, 
the  river  fretted  and  roared  in  a  white  rush  of  rapids. 
He  had  taken  the  jump,  a  jump  that  made  one's  nos- 
trils spread  and  his  breath  come  hard  as  he  measured 
it  with  his  eye.  Somewhere,  over  in  the  spruces' 
shadow  there,  he  was  hiding,  watching  me  no  doubt 
to  see  if  I  would  dare  follow. 


154  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

That  was  the  last  of  the  autumn  woods  for  me.  If 
I  had  only  seen  him  —  just  one  splendid  glimpse  as 
he  shot  over  and  poised  in  mid-air,  turning  for  the 
down  plunge  !  That  was  my  only  regret  as  I  turned 
slowly  away,  the  river  singing  beside  me  and  the 
shadows  lengthening  along  the  home  trail. 


WINTER    TRAILS 

THE  snow  had  come,  and  with  it  a  Christmas  holi- 
day. For  weeks  I  had  looked  longingly  out  of  college 
windows  as  the  first  tracking-snows  came  sifting  down, 
my  thoughts  turning  from  books  and  the  problems  of 
human  wisdom  to  the  winter  woods,  with  their  wide 
white  pages  written  all  over  by  the  feet  of  wild  things. 
Then  the  sun  would  shine  again,  and  I  knew  that  the 
records  were  washed  clean,  and  the  hard-packed  leaves 
as  innocent  of  footmarks  as  the  beach  where  plover 
feed  when  a  great  wave  has  chased  them  away.  On 
the  twentieth  a  change  came.  Outside  the  snow  fell 
heavily,  two  days  and  a  night;  inside,  books  were 
packed  away,  professors  said  Merry  Christmas,  and 
students  were  scattering,  like  a  bevy  of  flushed  quail, 
to  all  points  of  the  compass  for  the  holidays.  The 


Following  the  Deer  155 

afternoon  of  the  twenty-first  found  me  again  in  my 
room  under  the  eaves  of  the  old  farmhouse. 

Before  dark  I  had  taken  a  wide  run  over  the  hills 
and  through  the  woods  to  the  place  of  my  summer 
camp.  How  wonderful  it  all  was !  The  great  woods 
were  covered  deep  with  their  pure  white  mantle ;  not 
a  fleck,  not  a  track  soiled  its  even  whiteness ;  for  the 
last  soft  flakes  were  lingering  in  the  air,  and  fox  and 
grouse  and  hare  and  lucivee  were  still  keeping  the 
storm  truce,  hidden  deep  in  their  coverts.  Every  fir 
and  spruce  and  hemlock  had  gone  to  building  fairy 
grottoes  as  the  snow  packed  their  lower  branches, 
under  which  all  sorts  of  wonders  and  beauties  might 
be  hidden,  to  say  nothing  of  the  wild  things  for 
whom  Nature  had  been  building  innumerable  tents 
of  white  and  green  as  they  slept.  The  silence  was 
absolute,  the  forest's  unconscious  tribute  to  the  Won- 
der Worker.  Even  the  trout  brook,  running  black 
as  night  among  its  white-capped  boulders  and  delicate 
arches  of  frost  and  fern  work,  between  massive  banks 
of  feathery  white  and  green,  had  stopped  its  idle 
chatter  and  tinkled  a  low  bell  under  the  ice,  as  if  only 
the  Angelus  could  express  the  wonder  of  the  world. 

As  I  came  back  softly  in  the  twilight  a  movement 
in  an  evergreen  ahead  caught  my  eye,  and  I  stopped 
for  one  of  the  rare  sights  of  the  woods,  —  a  partridge 


156  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

going  to  sleep  in  a  warm  room  of  his  own  making. 
He  looked  all  about  among  the  trees  most  carefully, 
listened,  kwit-kwitted  in  a  low  voice  to  himself,  then, 
with  a  sudden  plunge,  swooped  downward  head-first 
into  the  snow.  I  stole  to  the  spot  where  he  had  dis- 
appeared, noted  the  direction  of  his  tunnel,  and  fell 
forward  with  arms  outstretched,  thinking  perhaps  to 
catch  him  under  me  and  examine  his  feet  to  see  how 
his  natural  snowshoes  (Nature's  winter  gift  to  every 
grouse)  were  developing,  before  letting  him  go  again. 
But  the  grouse  was  an  old  bird,  not  to  be  caught 
napping,  who  had  thought  on  the  possibilities  of  being 
followed  ere  he  made  his  plunge.  He  had  ploughed 
under  the  snow  for  a  couple  of  feet,  then  swerved 
sharply  to  the  left  and  made  a  little  chamber  for  him- 
self just  under  some  snow-packed  spruce  tips,  with  a 
foot  of  snow  for  a  blanket  over  him.  When  I  fell 
forward,  disturbing  his  rest  most  rudely  ere  he  had 
time  to  wink  the  snow  out  of  his  eyes,  he  burst  out 
with  a  great  whirr  and  sputter  between  my  left  hand 
and  my  head,  scattering  snow  all  over  me,  and  thun- 
dered off  through  the  startled  woods,  flicking  a 
branch  here  and  there  with  his  wings,  and  shaking 
down  a  great  white  shower  as  he  rushed  away  for 
deeper  solitudes.  There,  no  doubt,  he  went  to  sleep 
in  the  evergreens,  congratulating  himself  on  his  escape 


Following  the  Deer  157 

and  preferring  to  take  his  chances  with  the  owl,  rather 
than  with  some  other  ground-prowler  that  might  come 
nosing  into  his  hole  before  the  light  snow  had  time 
to  fill  it  up  effectually  behind  him. 

Next  morning  I  was  early  afield,  heading  for  a  ridge 
where  I  thought  the  deer  of  the  neighborhood  might 
congregate  with  the  intention  of  yarding  for  the 
winter.  At  the  foot  of  a  wild  little  natural  meadow, 
made  centuries  ago  by  the  beavers,  I  found  the  trail 
of  two  deer  which  had  been  helping  themselves  to 
some  hay  that  had  been  cut  and  stacked  there  the 
previous  summer.  My  big  buck  was  not  with  them ; 
so  I  left  the  trail  in  peace  to  push  through  a  belt  of 
woods  and  across  a  pond  to  an  old  road  that  led  for  a 
mile  or  two  towards  the  ridge  I  was  seeking. 

Early  as  I  was,  the  wood  folk  were  ahead  of  me. 
Their  tracks  were  everywhere,  eager,  hungry  tracks, 
that  poked  their  noses  into  every  possible  hiding 
place  of  food  or  game,  showing  how  the  two-days'  fast 
had  whetted  their  appetites  and  set  them  to  running 
keenly  the  moment  the  last  flakes  were  down  and  the 
storm  truce  ended. 

A  suspicious-looking  clump  of  evergreens,  where 
something  had  brushed  the  snow  rudely  from  the 
feathery  tips,  stopped  me  as  I  hurried  down  the  old 
road.  Under  the  evergreens  was  a  hole  in  the  snow, 


158  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

and  at  the  bottom  of  the  hole  hard  inverted  cups 
made  by  deer's  feet.  I  followed  on  to  another  hole  in 
the  snow  (it  could  scarcely  be  called  a  trail)  and  then 
to  another,  and  another,  some  twelve  or  fifteen  feet 
apart,  leading  in  swift  bounds  to  some  big  timber. 
There  the  curious  track  separated  into  three  deer 
trails,  one  of  which  might  well  be  that  of  a  ten-point 
buck.  Here  was  luck,  —  luck  to  find  my  quarry  so 
early  on  the  first  day  out,  and  better  luck  that,  during 
my  long  absence,  the  cunning  animal  had  kept  him- 
self and  his  consort  clear  of  Old  Wally  and  his 
devices. 

When  I  ran  to  examine  the  back  trail  more  care- 
fully, I  found  that  the  deer  had  passed  the  night  in  a 
dense  thicket  of  evergreen,  on  a  hilltop  overlooking 
the  road.  They  had  come  down  the  hill,  picking 
their  way  among  the  stumps  of  a  burned  clearing, 
stepping  carefully  in  each  other's  tracks  so  as  to  make 
but  a  single  trail.  At  the  road  they  had  leaped  clear 
across  from  one  thicket  to  another,  leaving  never  a 
trace  on  the  bare  even  whiteness.  One  might  have 
passed  along  the  road  a  score  of  times  without 
noticing  that  game  had  crossed.  There  was  no 
doubt  now  that  these  were  deer  that  had  been  often 
hunted,  and  that  had  learned  their  cunning  from 
long  experience. 


Following  the  Deer  159 

I  followed  them  rapidly  till  they  began  feeding  in 
a  little  valley,  then  with  much  caution,  stealing  from 
tree  to  thicket,  giving  scant  attention  to  the  trail,  but 
searching  the  woods  ahead ;  for  the  last  "  sign " 
showed  that  I  was  now  but  a  few  minutes  behind  the 
deer.  There  they  were  at  last,  two  graceful  forms 
gliding  like  gray  shadows  among  the  snow-laden 
branches.  But  in  vain  I  searched  for  a  lordly  head 
with  wide  rough  antlers  sweeping  proudly  over  the 
brow ;  my  buck  was  not  there.  Scarcely  had  I  made 
the  discovery  when  there  was  a  whistle  and  a  plunge 
up  on  the  hill  on  my  left,  and  I  had  one  swift  glimpse 
of  him,  a  splendid  creature,  as  he  bounded  away. 

By  way  of  general  precaution,  or  else  led  by  some 
strange  sixth  sense  of  danger,  he  had  left  his  compan- 
ions feeding  and  mounted  the  hill,  where  he  could  look 
back  on  his  own  track.  There  he  had  been  watching 
me  for  half  an  hour,  till  I  approached  too  near,  when 
he  sounded  the  alarm  and  was  off.  I  read  it  all  from 
the  trail  a  few  moments  later. 

It  was  of  no  use  to  follow  him,  for  he  ran  straight 
down  wind.  The  two  others  had  gone  quartering  off 
at  right  angles  to  his  course,  obeying  his  signal 
promptly,  but  having  as  yet  no  idea  of  what  danger 
followed  them.  When  alarmed  in  this  way,  deer  never 
run  far  before  halting  to  sniff  and  listen.  Then,  if 


160  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

not  disturbed,  they  run  off  again,  circling  back  and 
down  wind  so  as  to  catch  from  a  distance  the  scent 
of  anything  that  follows  on  their  trail. 

I  sat  still  where  I  was  for  a  good  hour,  watching 
the  chickadees  and  red  squirrels  that  found  me 
speedily,  and  refusing  to  move  for  all  the  peekings 
and  whistlings  of  a  jay  that  would  fain  satisfy  his 
curiosity  as  to  whether  I  meant  harm  to  the  deer,  or 
were  just  benumbed  by  the  cold  and  incapable  of 
further  mischief.  When  I  went  on  I  left  some 
scattered  bits  of  meat  from  my  lunch  to  keep  him 
busy  in  case  the  deer  were  near ;  but  there  was  no 
need  of  the  precaution.  The  two  had  learned  the 
leader's  lesson  of  caution  well,  and  ran  for  a  mile,  with 
many  haltings  and  circlings,  before  they  began  to 
feed  again.  Even  then  they  moved  along  at  a  good 
pace  as  they  fed,  till  a  mile  farther  on,  when,  as  I  had 
forelayed,  the  buck  came  down  from  a  hill  to  join 
them,  and  all  three  moved  off  toward  the  big  ridge, 
feeding  as  they  went. 

Then  began  a  long  chase,  a  chase  which  for  the 
deer  meant  a  straightaway  game,  and  for  me  a  series 
of  wide  circles  —  never  following  the  trail  directly, 
but  approaching  it  at  intervals  from  leeward,  hoping 
to  circle  ahead  of  the  deer  and  stalk  them  at  last  from 
an  unexpected  quarter. 


Following  the  Deer  161 

Once,  when  I  looked  down  from  a  bare  hilltop 
into  a  valley  where  the  trail  ran,  I  had  a  most  inter- 
esting glimpse  of  the  big  buck  doing  the  same  thing 
from  a  hill  farther  on  —  too  far  away  for  a  shot,  but 
near  enough  to  see  plainly  through  my  field  glass. 
The  deer  were  farther  ahead  than  I  supposed.  They 
had  made  a  run  for  it,  intending  to  rest  after  first 
putting  a  good  space  between  them  and  anything  that 
might  follow.  Now  they  were  undoubtedly  lying  down 
in  some  far-away  thicket,  their  minds  at  rest,  but  their 
four  feet  doubled  under  them  for  a  jump  at  short 
notice.  Trust  your  nose,  but  keep  your  feet  under 
you  —  that  is  deer  wisdom  on  going  to  sleep.  Mean- 
while, to  take  no  chances,  the  wary  old  leader  had 
circled  back,  to  wind  the  trail  and  watch  it  awhile 
from  a  distance  before  joining  them  in  their  rest. 

He  stood  stock-still  in  his  hiding,  so  still  that  one 
might  have  passed  close  by  without  noticing  him. 
But  his  head  was  above  the  low  evergreens ;  eyes, 
ears,  and  nose  were  busy  giving  him  perfect  report  of 
everything  that  passed  in  the  woods. 

I  started  to  stalk  him  promptly,  creeping  up  the 
hill  behind  him,  chuckling  to  myself  at  the  rare  sport 
of  catching  a  wild  thing  at  his  own  game.  But  before 
I  sighted  him  again  he  grew  uneasy  (the  snow  tells 
everything),  trotted  down  hill  to  the  trail,  and  put  his 


1 62  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

nose  into  it  here  and  there  to  be  sure  it  was  not  pol- 
luted. Then  —  another  of  his  endless  devices  to  make 
the  noonday  siesta  full  of  contentment  —  he  followed 
the  back  track  a  little  way,  stepping  carefully  in  his 
own  footprints ;  branched  off  on  the  other  side  of  the 
trail,  and  so  circled  swiftly  back  to  join  his  little  flock, 
leaving  behind  him  a  sad  puzzle  of  disputing  tracks 
for  any  novice  that  might  follow  him. 

So  the  interesting  chase  went  on  all  day,  skill 
against  keener  cunning,  instinct  against  finer  instinct, 
through  the  white  wonder  of  the  winter  woods,  till, 
late  in  the  afternoon,  it  swung  back  towards  the  start- 
ing point.  The  deer  had  undoubtedly  intended  to 
begin  their  yard  that  day  on  the  ridge  I  had  selected ; 
for  at  noon  I  crossed  the  trail  of  the  two  from  the 
haystack,  heading  as  if  by  mutual  understanding  in 
that  direction.  But  the  big  buck,  feeling  that  he  was 
followed,  cunningly  led  his  charge  away  from  the 
spot,  so  as  to  give  no  hint  of  the  proposed  winter 
quarters  to  the  enemy  that  was  after  him.  Just  as 
the  long  shadows  were  stretching  across  all  the  valleys 
from  hill  to  hill,  and  the  sun  vanished  into  the  last 
gray  bank  of  clouds  on  the  horizon,  my  deer  recrossed 
the  old  road,  leaping  it,  as  in  the  morning,  so  as  to 
leave  no  telltale  track,  and  climbed  the  hill  to  the  dense 
thicket  where  they  had  passed  the  previous  night. 


Following  the  Deer  163 

Here  was  my  last  chance,  and  I  studied  it  deliber- 
ately. The  deer  were  there,  safe  within  the  ever- 
greens, I  had  no  doubt,  using  their  eyes  for  the  open 
hillside  in  front  and  their  noses  for  the  woods  behind. 
It  was  useless  to  attempt  stalking  from  any  direction, 
for  the  cover  was  so  thick  that  a  fox  could  hardly 
creep  through  without  alarming  ears  far  less  sensi- 
tive than  a  deer's.  Skill  had  failed;  their  cunning 
was  too  much  for  me.  I  must  now  try  an  appeal  to 
curiosity. 

I  crept  up  the  hill  flat  on  my  face,  keeping  stump 
or  scrub  spruce  always  between  me  and  the  thicket 
on  the  hilltop.  The  wind  was  in  my  favor;  I  had 
only  their  eyes  to  consider.  Somewhere,  just  within 
the  shadow,  at  least  one  pair  were  sweeping  the  back 
track  keenly ;  so  I  kept  well  away  from  it,  creeping 
slowly  up  till  I  rested  behind  a  great  burned  stump 
within  forty  yards  of  my  game.  There  I  fastened  a 
red  bandanna  handkerchief  to  a  stick  and  waved  it 
slowly  above  the  stump. 

Almost  instantly  there  was  a  snort  and  a  rustle 
of  bushes  in  the  thicket  above  me.  Peeking  out  I 
saw  the  evergreens  moving  nervously ;  a  doe's  head 
appeared,  her  ears  set  forward,  her  eyes  glistening. 
I  waved  the  handkerchief  more  erratically.  My  rifle 
lay  across  the  stump's  roots,  pointing  straight  at  her; 


1 64  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

but  she  was  not  the  game  I  was  hunting.  Some  more 
waving  and  dancing  of  the  bright  color,  some  more 
nervous  twitchings  and  rustlings  in  the  evergreens, 
then  a  whistle  and  a  rush ;  the  doe  disappeared  ;  the 
movement  ceased ;  the  thicket  was  silent  as  the 
winter  woods  behind  me. 

"  They  are  just  inside,"  I  thought,  "  pawing  the 
snow  to  get  their  courage  up  to  come  and  see."  So 
the  handkerchief  danced  on  —  one,  two,  five  minutes 
passed  in  silence;  then  something  made  me  turn 
round.  There  in  plain  sight  behind  me,  just  this 
side  the  fringe  of  evergreen  that  lined  the  old  road, 
stood  my  three  deer  in  a  row  —  the  big  buck  on  the 
right  —  like  three  beautiful  statues,  their  ears  all  for- 
ward, their  eyes  fixed  with  intensest  curiosity  on  the 
man  lying  at  full  length  in  the  snow  with  the  queer 
red  flag  above  his  head. 

My  first  motion  broke  up  the  pretty  tableau. 
Before  I  could  reach  for  my  rifle  the  deer  whirled 
and  vanished  like  three  winks,  leaving  the  heavy  ever- 
green tips  nodding  and  blinking  behind  them  in  a 
shower  of  snow. 

Tired  as  I  was,  I  took  a  last  run  to  see  from  the 
trail  how  it  all  happened.  The  deer  had  been  stand- 
ing just  within  the  thicket  as  I  approached.  All 
three  had  seen  the  handkerchief ;  the  tracks  showed 


Following  the  Deer  165 

that  they  had  pawed  the  snow  and  moved  about  ner- 
vously. When  the  leader  whistled  they  had  bounded 
straightaway  down  the  steep  on  the  other  side.  But 
the  'farms  lay  in  that  direction,  so  they  had  skirted 
the  base  of  the  hill,  keeping  within  the  fringe  of  woods 
and  heading  back  for  their  morning  trail,  till  the 
red  flag  caught  their  eye  again,  and  strong  curiosity 
had  halted  them  for  another  look. 

Thus  the  long  hunt  ended  at  twilight  within  sight 
of  the  spot  where  it  began  in  the  gray  morning  still- 
ness. With  marvelous  cunning  the  deer  circled  into 
their  old  tracks  and  followed  them  till  night  turned 
them  aside  into  a  thicket.  This  I  discovered  at 
daylight  next  morning. 

That  day  a  change  came ;  first  a  south  wind,  then 
in  succession  a  thaw,  a  mist,  a  rain  turning  to  snow, 
a  cold  wind  and  a  bitter  frost.  Next  day  when  I 
entered  the  woods  a  brittle  crust  made  silent  travel- 
ing impossible,  and  over  the  rocks  and  bare  places 
was  a  sheet  of  ice  covered  thinly  with  snow. 

I  was  out  all  day,  less  in  hope  of  finding  deer  than 
of  watching  the  wild  things;  but  at  noon,  as  I  sat 
eating  my  lunch,  I  heard  a  rapid  running,  crunch, 
crunch,  crunch,  on  the  ridge  above  me.  I  stole  up, 
quietly  as  I  could,  to  find  the  fresh  trails  of  my  three 
deer.  They  were  running  from  fright  evidently,  and 


1 66  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

were  very  tired,  as  the  short  irregular  jumps  showed. 
Once,  where  the  two  leaders  cleared  a  fallen  log,  the 
third  deer  had  fallen  heavily ;  and  all  three  trails 
showed  blood  stains  where  the  crust  had  cut  into 
their  legs. 

I  waited  there  on  the  trail  to  see  what  was  follow- 
ing—  to  give  right  of  way  to  any  hunter,  but  with  a 
good  stout  stick  handy,  for  dealing  with  dogs,  which 
sometimes  ran  wild  in  the  woods  and  harried  the 
deer.  For  a  long  quarter-hour  the  woods  were  all 
still ;  then  the  jays,  which  had  come  whistling  up  on 
the  trail,  flew  back  screaming  and  scolding,  and  a 
huge  yellow  mongrel,  showing  hound's  blood  in  his 
ears  and  nose,  came  slipping,  limping,  whining  over 
the  crust.  I  waited  behind  a  tree  till  he  was  up  with 
me,  when  I  jumped  out  and  caught  him  a  resounding 
thump  on  the  ribs.  As  he  ran  yelping  away  I  fired 
my  rifle  over  his  head,  and  sent  the  good  club  with 
a  vengeance  to  knock  his  heels  from  under  him.  A 
fresh  outburst  of  howls  inspired  me  with  hope.  Per- 
haps he  would  remember  now  to  let  deer  alone  for 
the  winter. 

Above  the  noise  of  canine  lamentation  I  caught  the 
faint  click  of  snowshoes,  and  hid  again  to  catch  the 
cur's  owner  at  his  contemptible  work.  But  the  sound 
stopped  far  back  on  the  trail  at  the  sudden  uproar. 


Following  the  Deer  167 

Through  the  trees  I  caught  glimpses  of  a  fur  cap  and 
a  long  gun  and  the  hawk  face  of  Old  Wally,  peeking, 
listening,  creeping  on  the  trail,  and  stepping  gingerly 
at  last  down  the  valley,  ashamed  or  afraid  of  being 
caught  at  his  unlawful  hunting.  "  An  ill  wind,  but  it 
blows  me  good,"  I  thought,  as  I  took  up  the  trail  of 
the  deer,  half  ashamed  myself  to  take  advantage  of 
them  when  tired  by  the  dog's  chasing. 

There  was  no  need  of  commiseration,  however; 
now  that  the  dog  was  out  of  the  way  they  could  take 
care  of  themselves  very  well.  I  found  them  resting 
only  a  short  distance  ahead ;  but  when  I  attempted  to 
stalk  them  from  leeward  the  noise  of  my  approach  on 
the  crust  sent  them  off  with  a  rush  before  I  caught 
even  a  glimpse  of  them  in  their  thicket. 

I  gave  up  caution  then  and  there.  I  was  fresh  and 
the  deer  were  tired, — why  not  run  them  down  and  get 
a  fair  shot  before  the  sun  went  down  and  left  the 
woods  too  dark  to  see  a  rifle  sight  ?  I  had  heard  that 
the  Indians  used  sometimes  to  try  running  a  deer 
down  afoot  in  the  old  days ;  here  was  the  chance  to 
try  a  new  experience.  It  was  fearfully  hard  traveling 
without  snowshoes,  to  be  sure ;  but  that  seemed  only 
to  even-up  chances  fairly  with  the  deer.  At  the 
thought  I  ran  on,  giving  no  heed  when  the  quarry 
jumped  again  just  ahead  of  me,  but  pushing  them 


1 68  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

steadily,  mile  after  mile,  till  I  realized  with  a  thrill 
that  I  was  gaining  rapidly,  that  their  pauses  grew 
more  and  more  frequent,  and  I  had  constant  glimpses 
of  deer  ahead  among  the  trees  —  never  of  the  big 
buck,  but  of  the  two  does,  who  were  struggling 
desperately  to  follow  their  leader  as  he  kept  well 
ahead  of  them  breaking  the  way.  Then  realizing,  I 
think,  that  he  was  followed  by  strength  rather  than 
by  skill  or  cunning,  the  noble  old  fellow  tried  a  last 
trick,  which  came  near  being  the  end  of  my  hunting 
altogether. 

The  trail  turned  suddenly  to  a  high  open  ridge 
with  scattered  thickets  here  and  there.  As  they 
labored  up  the  slope  I  had  the  does  in  plain  sight. 
On  top  the  snow  was  light,  and  they  bounded  ahead 
with  fresh  strength.  The  trail  led  straight  along  the 
edge  of  a  cliff,  beyond  which  the  deer  had  vanished. 
They  had  stopped  running  here ;  I  noticed  with 
amazement  that  they  had  walked  with  quick  short 
steps  across  the  open.  Eager  for  a  sight  of  the  buck, 
I  saw  only  the  thin  powdering  of  snow ;  I  forgot  the 
glare  ice  that  covered  the  rock  beneath.  The  deer's 
sharp  hoofs  had  clung  to  the  very  edge  securely.  My 
heedless  feet  had  barely  struck  the  rock  when  they 
slipped  and  I  shot  over  the  cliff,  thirty  feet  to  the 
rocks  below.  Even  as  I  fell  and  the  rifle  flew  from 


Following  the  Deer  169 

my  grasp,  I  heard  the  buck's  loud  whistle  from  the 
thicket  where  he  was  watching  me,  and  then  the 
heavy  plunge  of  the  deer  as  they  jumped  away. 

A  great  drift  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff  saved  me.  I 
picked  myself  up,  fearfully  bruised  but  with  nothing 
broken,  found  my  rifle  and  limped  away  four  miles 
through  the  woods  to  the  road,  thinking  as  I  went 
that  I  was  well  served  for  having  delivered  the  deer 
"  from  the  power  of  the  dog,"  only  to  take  advantage 
of  their  long  run  to  secure  a  head  that  my  skill  had 
failed  to  win.  I  wondered,  with  an  extra  twinge  in  my 
limp,  whether  I  had  saved  Old  Wally  by  taking  the 
chase  out  of  his  hands  unceremoniously.  Above  all,  I 
wondered  —  and  here  I  would  gladly  follow  another 
trail  over  the  same  ground  —  whether  the  noble  beast, 
grown  weary  with  running,  his  splendid  strength  fail- 
ing for  the  first  time,  and  his  little,  long-tended  flock 
ready  to  give  in  and  have  the  tragedy  over,  knew  just 
what  he  was  doing  in  mincing  along  the  cliff's  edge 
with  his  heedless  enemy  close  behind.  What  did  he 
think  and  feel,  looking  back  from  his  hiding,  and  what 
did  his  loud  whistle  mean  ?  But  that  is  always  the 
despair  of  studying  the  wild  things.  When  your  prob- 
lem is  almost  solved,  night  comes  and  the  trail  ends. 

When  I  could  walk  again  easily  vacation  was  over, 
the  law  was  on,  and  the  deer  were  safe. 


1 70  Secrets  of  the  Woods 


SNOW    BOUND 

MARCH  is  a  weary  month  for  the  wood  folk.  One 
who  follows  them  then  has  it  borne  in  upon  him 
continually  that  life  is  a  struggle,  —  a  keen,  hard, 
hunger-driven  struggle  to  find  enough  to  keep 
a-going  and  sleep  warm  till  the  tardy  sun  comes 
north  again  with  his  rich  living.  The  fall  abundance 
of  stored  food  has  all  been  eaten,  except  in  out-of- 
the-way  corners  that  one  stumbles  upon  in  a  long 
day's  wandering;  the  game  also  is  wary  and  hard 
to  find  from  being  constantly  hunted  by  eager 
enemies. 

It  is  then  that  the  sparrow  falleth.  You  find  him 
on  the  snow,  a  wind-blown  feather  guiding  your  eye 
to  the  open  where  he  fell  in  mid-flight ;  or  under  the 
tree,  which  shows  that  he  lost  his  grip  in  the  night. 
His  empty  crop  tells  the  whole  pitiful  story,  and  why 
you  find  him  there  cold  and  dead,  his  toes  curled  up 
and  his  body  feather-light.  You  would  find  more 
but  for  the  fact  that  hunger-pointed  eyes  are  keener 
than  yours  and  earlier  abroad,  and  that  crow  and  jay 
and  mink  and  wildcat  have  greater  interest  than  you 
in  finding  where  the  sparrow  fell. 


Following  the  Deer  171 

It  is  then,  also,  that  the  owl,  who  hunts  the  sparrow 
o'  nights,  grows  so  light  from  scant  feeding  that  he 
cannot  fly  against  the  wind.  If  he  would  go  back  to 
his  starting  point  while  the  March  winds  are  out,  he 
must  needs  come  down  close  to  the  ground  and  yew- 
yaw  towards  his  objective,  making  leeway  like  an  old 
boat  without  ballast  or  centerboard. 

The  grouse  have  taken  to  bud-eating  from  necessity 
—  birch  buds  mostly,  with  occasional  trips  to  the 
orchards  for  variety.  They  live  much  now  in  the 
trees,  which  they  dislike  ;  but  with  a  score  of  hungry 
enemies  prowling  for  them  day  and  night,  what  can 
a  poor  grouse  do  ? 

When  a  belated  snow  falls,  you  follow  their  particu- 
lar enemy,  the  fox,  where  he  wanders,  wanders,  wan- 
ders on  his  night's  hunting.  Across  the  meadow,  to 
dine  on  the  remembrance  of  field  mice  —  alas !  safe 
now  under  the  crust ;  along  the  brook,  where  he  once 
caught  frogs ;  through  the  thicket,  where  the  grouse 
were  hatched;  past  the  bullbrier  tangle,  where  the 
covey  of  quail  once  rested  nightly ;  into  the  farmyard, 
where  the  dog  is  loose  and  the  chickens  are  safe 
under  lock  and  key,  instead  of  roosting  in  trees ; 
across  the  highway,  and  through  the  swamp,  and  into 
the  big  bare  empty  woods  ;  till  in  the  sad  gray  morn- 
ing light  he  digs  under  the  wild  apple  tree  and  sits 


172  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

down  on  the  snow  to  eat  a  frozen  apple,  lest  his 
stomach  cry  too  loudly  while  he  sleeps  the  day  away 
and  tries  to  forget  that  he  is  hungry. 

Everywhere  it  is  the  same  story:  hard  times  and 
poor  hunting.  Even  the  chickadees  are  hard  pressed 
to  keep  up  appearances  and  have  their  sweet  love 
note  ready  at  the  first  smell  of  spring  in  the  air. 

This  was  the  lesson  that  the  great  woods  whispered 
sadly  when  a  few  idle  March  days  found  me  gliding 
on  snowshoes  over  the  old  familiar  ground.  Wild 
geese  had  honked  an  invitation  from  the  South  Shore  ; 
but  one  can  never  study  a  wild  goose ;  the  only  satis- 
faction is  to  see  him  swing  in  on  broad  wings  over 
the  decoys  —  one  glorious  moment  ere  the  gun  speaks 
and  the  dog  jumps  and  everything  is  spoiled.  So  I 
left  gun  and  rifle  behind,  and  went  off  to  the  woods 
of  happy  memories  to  see  how  my  deer  were  faring. 

The  wonder  of  the  snow  was  gone ;  there  was  left 
only  its  cold  bitterness  and  a  vague  sense  that  it 
ought  no  longer  to  cumber  the  ground,  but  would 
better  go  away  as  soon  as  possible  and  spare  the  wood 
folk  any  more  suffering.  The  litter  of  a  score  of 
storms  covered  its  soiled  rough  surface ;  every  shred 
of  bark  had  left  its  dark  stain  where  the  decaying  sap 
had  melted  and  spread  in  the  midday  sun.  The  hard 
crust,  which  made  such  excellent  running  for  my 


Following  the  Deer  173 

snowshoes,  seemed  bitterly  cruel  when  I  thought  of 
the  starving  wild  things  and  of  the  abundance  of  food 
on  the  brown  earth,  just  four  feet  below  their  hungry 
bills  and  noses. 

The  winter  had  been  unusually  severe.  Reports 
had  come  to  me  from  the  North  Woods  of  deep 
snows,  and  of  deer  dying  of  starvation  and  cold  in 
their  yards.  I  confess  that  I  was  anxious  as  I  hurried 
along.  Now  that  the  hunt  was  over  and  the  deer  had 
won,  they  belonged  to  me  more  than  ever — more  even 
than  if  the  stuffed  head  of  the  buck  looked  down  on 
my  hall,  instead  of  resting  proudly  over  his  own 
strong  shoulders.  My  snowshoes  clicked  a  rapid 
march  through  the  sad  gray  woods,  while  the  March 
wind  thrummed  an  accompaniment  high  up  among 
the  bare  branches,  and  the  ground-spruce  nodded 
briskly,  beating  time  with  their  green  tips,  as  if  glad 
of  any  sound  or  music  that  would  break  the  chill 
silence  until  the  birds  came  back. 

Here  and  there  the  snow  told  stories;  gay  stories, 
tragic  stories,  sad,  wandering,  patient  stories  of  the 
little  woods-people,  which  the  frost  had  hardened  into 
crust,  as  if  Nature  would  keep  their  memorials  for- 
ever, like  the  records  on  the  sun-hardened  bricks  of 
Babylon.  But  would  the  deer  live  ?  Would  the  big 
buck's  cunning  provide  a  yard  large  enough  for  wide 


174  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

wandering,  with  plenty  of  browse  along  the  paths  to 
carry  his  flock  safely  through  the  winter's  hunger? 
That  was  a  story,  waiting  somewhere  ahead,  which 
made  me  hurry  away  from  the  foot-written  records 
that  otherwise  would  have  kept  me  busy  for  hours. 

Crossbills  called  welcome  to  me,  high  overhead. 
Nothing  can  starve  them  out.  A  red  squirrel  rushed 
headlong  out  of  his  hollow  tree  at  the  first  click  of  my 
snowshoes.  Nothing  can  check  his  curiosity  or  his 
scolding  except  his  wife,  whom  he  likes,  and  the  wea- 
sel, whom  he  is  mortally  afraid  of.  Chickadees  fol- 
lowed me  shyly  with  their  blandishments — tsic-a-deeee? 
with  that  gentle  up-slide  of  questioning.  "  Is  the 
spring  really  coming  ?  Are  —  are  you  a  harbinger  ?  " 

But  the  snowshoes  clicked  on,  away  from  the  sweet 
blarney,  leaving  behind  the  little  flatterers  who  were 
honestly  glad  to  see  me  in  the  woods  again,  and  who 
would  fain  have  delayed  me.  Other  questions,  stern 
ones,  were  calling  ahead.  Would  the  cur  dogs  find 
the  yard  and  exterminate  the  innocents  ?  Would 
Old  Wally  — but  no;  Wally  had  the  "  rheumatiz," 
and  was  out  of  the  running.  Ill-wind  blew  the  deer 
good  that  time ;  else  he  would  long  ago  have  run 
them  down  on  snowshoes  and  cut  their  throats,  as  if 
they  were  indeed  his  "  tarnal  sheep "  that  had  run 
wild  in  the  woods. 


Following  the  Deer  175 

At  the  southern  end  of  a  great  hardwood  ridge  I 
found  the  first  path  of  their  yard.  It  was  half  filled 
with  snow,  unused  since  the  last  two  storms.  A 
glance  on  either  side,  where  everything  eatable  within 
reach  of  a  deer's  neck  had  long  ago  been  cropped 
close,  showed  plainly  why  the  path  was  abandoned. 
I  followed  it  a  short  distance  before  running  into 
another  path,  and  another,  then  into  a  great  tangle 
of  deer  ways  spreading  out  crisscross  over  the  eastern 
and  southern  slopes  of  the  ridge. 

In  some  of  the  paths  were  fresh  deer  tracks  and 
the  signs  of  recent  feeding.  My  heart  jumped  at 
sight  of  one  great  hoof  mark.  I  had  measured  and 
studied  it  too  often  to  fail  to  recognize  its  owner. 
There  was  browse  here  still,  to  be  had  for  the  crop- 
ping. I  began  to  be  hopeful  for  my  little  flock,  and 
to  feel  a  higher  regard  for  their  leader,  who  could 
plan  a  yard,  it  seemed,  as  well  as  a  flight,  and  who 
could  not  be  deceived  by  early  abundance  into  out- 
lining a  small  yard,  forgetting  the  late  snows  and  the 
spring  hunger. 

I  was  stooping  to  examine  the  more  recent  signs, 
when  a  sharp  snort  made  me  raise  my  head  quickly. 
In  the  path  before  me  stood  a  doe,  all  a-quiver,  her 
feet  still  braced  from  the  suddenness  with  which  she 
had  stopped  at  sight  of  an  unknown  object  blocking 


1 76  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

the  path  ahead.  Behind  her  two  other  deer  checked 
themselves  and  stood  like  statues,  unable  to  see,  but 
obeying  their  leader  promptly. 

All  three  were  frightened  and  excited,  not  simply 
curious,  as  they  would  have  been  had  they  found  me 
in  their  path  unexpectedly.  The  widespread  nostrils 
and  heaving  sides  showed  that  they  had  been  running 
hard.  Those  in  the  rear  (I  could  see  them  over  the 
top  of  the  scrub  spruce,  behind  which  I  crouched  in 
the  path)  said  in  every  muscle  :  "  Go  on !  No  matter 
what  it  is,  the  danger  behind  is  worse.  Go  on,  go 
on  !  "  Insistence  was  in  the  air.  The  doe  felt  it  and 
bounded  aside.  The  crust  had  softened  in  the 
sun,  and  she  plunged  through  it  when  she  struck, 
cr-r-runch,  cr-r-runch,  up  to  her  sides  at  every  jump. 
The  others  followed,  just  swinging  their  heads  for  a 
look  and  a  sniff  at  me,  springing  from  hole  to  hole  in 
the  snow,  and  making  but  a  single  track.  A  dozen 
jumps  and  they  struck  another  path  and  turned  into 
it,  running  as  before  down  the  ridge.  In  the  swift 
glimpses  they  gave  me  I  noticed  with  satisfaction 
that,  though  thin  and  a  bit  ragged  in  appearance,  they 
were  by  no  means  starved.  The  veteran  leader  had 
provided  well  for  his  little  family. 

I  followed  their  back  track  up  the  ridge  for  perhaps 
half  a  mile,  when  another  track  made  me  turn  aside. 


Following  the  Deer  177 

Two  days  before,  a  single  deer  had  been  driven  out  of 
the  yard  at  a  point  where  three  paths  met.  She  had 
been  running  down  the  ridge  when  something  in 
front  met  her  and  drove  her  headlong  out  of  her 
course.  The  soft  edges  of  the  path  were  cut  and 
torn  by  suspicious  claw  marks. 

I  followed  her  flight  anxiously,  finding  here  and 
there,  where  the  snow  had  been  softest,  dog  tracks 
big  and  little.  The  deer  was  tired  from  long  run- 
ning, apparently ;  the  deep  holes  in  the  snow,  where 
she  had  broken  through  the  crust,  were  not  half 
the  regular  distance  apart.  A  little  way  from  the 
path  I  found  her,  cold  and  stiff,  her  throat  horribly 
torn  by  the  pack  which  had  run  her  to  death.  Her 
hind  feet  were  still  doubled  under  her,  just  as  she  had 
landed  from  her  last  despairing  jump,  when  the  tired 
muscles  could  do  no  more,  and  she  sank  down  without 
a  struggle  to  let  the  dogs  do  their  cruel  work. 

I  had  barely  read  all  this,  and  had  not  yet  finished 
measuring  the  largest  tracks  to  see  if  it  were  her  old 
enemy  that,  as  dogs  frequently  do,  had  gathered  a 
pirate  band  about  him  and  led  them  forth  to  the 
slaughter  of  the  innocents,  when  a  far-away  cry  came 
stealing  down  through  the  gray  woods.  Hark!. the 
eager  yelp  of  curs  and  the  leading  hoot  of  a  hound. 
I  whipped  out  my  knife  to  cut  a  club,  and  was  off  for 


1 78  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

the  sounds  on  a  galloping  run,  which  is  the  swiftest 
possible  gait  on  snowshoes. 

There  were  no  deer  paths  here ;  for  the  hardwood 
browse,  upon  which  deer  depend  for  food,  grew  mostly 
on  the  other  sides  of  the  ridge.  That  the  chase 
should  turn  this  way,  out  of  the  yard's  limits,  showed 
the  dogs'  cunning,  and  that  they  were  not  new  at 
their  evil  business.  They  had  divided  their  forces 
again,  as  they  had  undoubtedly  done  when  hunting 
the  poor  doe  whose  body  I  had  just  found.  Part  of 
the  pack  hunted  down  the  ridge  in  full  cry,  while  the 
rest  lay  in  wait  to  spring  at  the  flying  game  as  it  came 
on  and  drive  it  out  of  the  paths  into  the  deep  snow, 
where  it  would  speedily  be  at  their  mercy.  At  the 
thought  I  gripped  the  club  hard,  promising  to  stop 
that  kind  of  hunting  for  good,  if  only  I  could  get  half 
a  chance. 

Presently,  above  the  scrape  of  my  snowshoes,  I  heard 
the  deer  coming,  cr-r-runch  !  cr-r-runch !  the  heavy 
plunges  growing  shorter  and  fainter,  while  behind  the 
sounds  an  eager,  whining  trail-cry  grew  into  a  fierce 
howl  of  canine  exultation.  Something  was  telling  me 
to  hurry,  hurry ;  that  the  big  buck  I  had  so  often 
hunted  was  in  my  power  at  last,  and  that,  if  I  would 
square  accounts,  I  must  beat  the  dogs,  though  they 
were  nearer  to  him  now  than  I.  The  excitement  of  a 


Following  the  Deer  179 

new  kind  of  hunt,  a  hunt  to  save,  not  to  kill,  was 
tingling  all  over  me  when  I  circled  a  dense  thicket  of 
firs  with  a  rush,  and  there  he  lay,  up  to  his  shoulders 
in  the  snow  before  me. 

He  had  taken  his  last  jump.  The  splendid  strength 
which  had  carried  him  so  far  was  spent  now  to  the 
last  ounce.  He  lay  resting  easily  in  the  snow,  his 
head  outstretched  on  the  crust  before  him,  awaiting 
the  tragedy  that  had  followed  him  for  years,  by  lake 
and  clearing  and  winter  yard,  and  that  burst  out 
behind  him  now  with  a  cry  to  make  one's  nerves 
shudder.  The  glory  of  his  antlers  was  gone ;  he 
had  dropped  them  months  before;  but  the  mighty 
shoulders  and  sinewy  neck  and  perfect  head  showed 
how  well,  how  grandly  he  had  deserved  my  hunting. 

He  threw  up  his  head  as  I  burst  out  upon  him  from 
an  utterly  unexpected  quarter  —  the  very  thing  that  I 
had  so  often  tried  to  do,  in  vain,  in  the  old  glorious 
days.  "  Hast  thou  found  me,  O  mine  enemy  ?  Well, 
here  am  I."  That  is  what  his  eyes,  great,  sad,  accus- 
ing eyes,  were  saying  as  he  laid  his  head  down  on  the 
snow  again,  quiet  as  an  Indian  at  the  torture,  too 
proud  to  struggle  where  nothing  was  to  be  gained 
but  pity  or  derision. 

A  strange,  uncanny  silence  had  settled  over  the 
woods.  Wolves  cease  their  cry  in  the  last  swift  burst 


180  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

of  speed  that  will  bring  the  game  in  sight.  Then  the 
dogs  broke  out  of  the  cover  behind  him  with  a  fiercer 
howl  that  was  too  much  for  even  his  nerves  to  stand. 
Nothing  on  earth  could  have  met  such  a  death 
unmoved.  No  ears,  however  trained,  could  hear  that 
fierce  cry  for  blood  without  turning  to  meet  it  face  to 
face.  With  a  mighty  effort  the  buck  whirled  in  the 
snow  and  gathered  himself  for  the  tragedy. 

Far  ahead  of  the  pack  came  a  small,  swift  bulldog 
that,  with  no  nose  of  his  own  for  hunting,  had  fol- 
lowed the  pirate  leader  for  mere  love  of  killing.  As 
he  jumped  for  the  throat,  the  buck,  with  his  last 
strength,  reared  on  his  hind  legs,  so  as  to  get  his  fore 
feet  clear  of  the  snow,  and  plunged  down  again  with 
a  hard,  swift  sabre-cut  of  his  right  hoof.  It  caught 
the  dog  on  the  neck  as  he  rose  on  the  spring,  and 
ripped  him  from  ear  to  tail.  Deer  and  dog  came  down 
together.  Then  the  buck  rose  swiftly  for  his  last  blow, 
and  the  knife-edged  hoofs  shot  down  like  lightning; 
one  straight,  hard  drive  with  the  crushing  force  of  a 
ten-ton  hammer  behind  it  —  and  his  first  enemy  was 
out  of  the  hunt  forever.  Before  he  had  time  to  gather 
himself  again  the  big  yellow  brindle,  with  the  hound's 
blood  showing  in  nose  and  ears, —  Old  Wally's  dog, 
—  leaped  into  sight.  His  whining  trail-cry  changed  to 
a  fierce  growl  as  he  sprang  for  the  buck's  nose. 


Gathered  himself  for  the  tragedy 


Following  the  Deer 

I  had  waited  for  just  this  moment  in  hiding,  and 
jumped  to  meet  it.  The  club  came  down  between 
the  two  heads ;  and  there  was  no  reserve  this  time  in 
the  muscles  that  swung  it.  It  caught  the  brute  fair 
on  the  head,  where  the  nose  begins  to  dome  up  into 
the  skull, — and  he  too  had  harried  his  last  deer. 

Two  other  curs  had  leaped  aside  with  quick  instinct 
the  moment  they  saw  me,  and  vanished  into  the 
thickets,  as  if  conscious  of  their  evil  doing  and  anxious 
to  avoid  detection.  But  the  third,  a  large  collie,  —  a 
dog  that,  when  he  does  go  wrong,  becomes  the  most 
cunning  and  vicious  of  brutes, —  flew  straight  at  my 
throat  with  a  snarl  like  a  gray  wolf  cheated  of  his  kill- 
ing. I  have  faced  bear  and  panther  and  bull  moose 
when  the  red  danger-light  blazed  into  their  eyes ;  but 
never  before  or  since  have  I  seen  such  awful  fury  in  a 
brute's  face.  It  swept  over  me  in  an  instant  that  it 
was  his  life  or  mine ;  there  was  no  question  or  alterna- 
tive. A  lucky  cut  of  the  club  disabled  him,  and  I 
finished  the  job  on  the  spot,  for  the  good  of  the  deer 
and  the  community. 

The  big  buck  had  not  moved,  nor  tried  to,  after  his 
last  great  effort.  Now  he  only  turned  his  head  and 
lifted  it  wearily,  as  if  to  get  away  from  the  intolerable 
smell  of  his  dog  enemies  that  lay  dying  under  his  very 
nose.  His  great,  sorrowful,  questioning  eyes  were 


1 82  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

turned  on  me  continually,  with  a  look  that  only  inno- 
cence could  possibly  meet.  No  man  on  earth,  I  think, 
could  have  looked  into  them  for  a  full  moment  and 
then  raised  his  hand  to  slay. 

I  approached  very  quietly,  and  dragged  the  dogs 
away  from  him,  one  by  one.  His  eyes  followed  me 
always.  His  nostrils  spread,  his  head  came  up  with 
a  start  when  I  flung  the  first  cur  aside  to  leeward. 
But  he  made  no  motion ;  only  his  eyes  had  a  wonder- 
ful light  in  them  when  I  dragged  his  last  enemy,  the 
one  he  had  killed  himself,  from  under  his  very  head 
and  threw  it  after  the  others.  Then  I  sat  down 
quietly  in  the  snow,  and  we  were  face  to  face  at 
last. 

He  feared  me  —  I  could  hardly  expect  otherwise, 
while  a  deer  has  memory  —  but  he  lay  perfectly  still, 
his  head  extended  on  the  snow,  his  sides  heaving. 
After  a  little  while  he  made  a  few  bounds  forward,  at 
right  angles  to  the  course  he  had  been  running,  with 
marvelous  instinct  remembering  the  nearest  point  in 
the  many  paths  out  of  which  the  pack  had  driven 
him.  But  he  stopped  and  lay  quiet  at  the  first  sound 
of  my  snowshoes  behind  him.  "  The  chase  law  holds. 
You  have  caught  me ;  I  am  yours,"  —  this  is  what  his 
sad  eyes  were  saying.  And  sitting  down  quietly  near 
him  again,  I  tried  to  reassure  him.  "  You  are  safe. 


Following  the  Deer  183 

Take  your  own  time.  No  dog  shall  harm  you  now." 
—  That  is  what  I  tried  to  niake  him  feel  by  the  very 
power  of  my  own  feeling,  never  more  strongly  roused 
than  now  for  any  wild  creature. 

I  whistled  a  little  tune  softly,  which  always  rouses 
the  wood  folk's  curiosity ;  but  as  he  lay  quiet,  listening, 
his  ears  shot  back  and  forth  nervously  at  a  score  of 
sounds  that  I  could  not  hear,  as  if  above  the  music  he 
caught  faint  echoes  of  the  last  fearful  chase.  Then 
I  brought  out  my  lunch  and,  nibbling  a  bit  myself, 
pushed  a  slice  of  black  bread  over  the  crust  towards 
him  with  a  long  stick. 

It  was  curious  and  intensely  interesting  to  watch 
the  struggle.  At  first  he  pulled  away,  as  if  I  would 
poison  him.  Then  a  new  rich  odor  began  to  steal  up 
into  his  hungry  nostrils.  For  weeks  he  had  not  fed 
full ;  he  had  been  running  hard  since  daylight,  and 
was  faint  and  exhausted.  And  in  all  his  life  he  had 
never  smelled  anything  so  good.  He  turned  his  head 
to  question  me  with  his  eyes.  Slowly  his  nose  came 
down,  searching  for  the  bread.  "  If  he  would  only 
eat !  —  that  is  a  truce  which  I  would  never  break,"  I 
kept  thinking  over  and  over,  and  stopped  eating  in 
my  eagerness  to  have  him  share  with  me  the  hunter's 
crust.  His  nose  touched  it;  then  through  his  hunger 
came  the  smell  of  the  man  —  the  danger  smell  that 


184  Secrets  of  the  Woods 

had  followed  him  day  after  day  in  the  beautiful 
October  woods,  and  over  white  winter  trails  when  he 
fled  for  his  life,  and  still  the  man  followed.  The 
remembrance  was  too  much.  He  raised  his  head 
with  an  effort  and  bounded  away. 

I  followed  slowly,  keeping  well  out  to  one  side  of 
his  trail,  and  sitting  quietly  within  sight  whenever  he 
rested  in  the  snow.  Wild  animals  soon  lose  their  fear 
in  the  presence  of  man  if  one  avoids  all  excitement, 
even  of  interest,  and  is  quiet  in  his  motions.  His  fear 
was  gone  now,  but  the  old  wild  freedom  and  the 
intense  desire  for  life  —  a  life  which  he  had  resigned 
when  I  appeared  suddenly  before  him,  and  the  pack 
broke  out  behind  —  were  coming  back  with  renewed 
force.  His  bounds  grew  longer,  firmer,  his  stops  less 
frequent,  till  he  broke  at  last  into  a  deer  path  and 
shook  himself,  as  if  to  throw  off  all  memory  of  the 
experience. 

From  a  thicket  of  fir  a  doe,  that  had  been  listening 
in  hiding  to  the  sounds  of  his  coming  and  to  the  faint 
unknown  click,  which  was  the  voice  of  my  snowshoes, 
came  out  to  meet  him.  Together  they  trotted  down 
the  path,  turning  often  to  look  and  listen,  and  vanished 
at  last,  like  gray  shadows,  into  the  gray  stillness  of  the 
March  woods. 


GLOSSARY    OF    INDIAN    NAMES 

Cheokhes,  che-ok-hes' ,  the  mink. 

Ch'geegee-lokh,  ch1  gee-gee' -lock,  the  chickadee. 

Cheplahgan,  chep-ldh'-gan,  the  bald  eagle. 

Chigwooltz,  chig-ivooltz' ,  the  bullfrog. 

Cl<5te  Scarpe,  a  legendary  hero,  like  Hiawatha,  of  the  Northern  Indians. 

Pronounced  variously,  Clote  Scarpe,  Groscap,  Gluscap,  etc. 
Deedeeaskh,  dee-dee' -ask,  the  blue  jay. 
Hukweem,  huk-iveem',  the  great  northern  diver,  or  loon. 
Ismaques,  iss-md-quesr ,  the  fish-hawk. 
Kagax,  kdg'-dx,  the  weasel. 
Kakagos,  kd-kd-gos',  the  raven. 
Keeokuskh,  kee-o-kusk',  the  muskrat. 
Keeonekh,  kee'-o-nek,  the  otter. 
Killooleet,  kil'-loo-leet',  the  white-throated  sparrow. 
Kookooskoos,  koo-koo-skoos' ',  the  great  horned  owl. 
Koskomenos,  kos'-kom-e-nos',  the  kingfisher. 
Kupkawis,  cup-ka'-ivis,  the  barred  owl. 
Kwaseekho,  kwd-seek'-ho,  the  sheldrake. 
Lhoks,  locks,  the  panther. 
Malsun,  mdl'-sun,  the  wolf. 
Meeko,  meek'-o,  the  red  squirrel. 
Megaleep,  meg'-d-leep,  the  caribou. 

Milicete,  mil'-i-cete,  the  name  of  an  Indian  tribe;  written  also  Malicete. 
Mitches,  mit-ch8s,  the  birch  partridge,  or  ruffed  grouse. 
Moktaques,  mok-td'-ques,  the  hare. 
Mooween,  moo-ween',  the  black  bear. 
Musquash,  mus'-qndsh,  the  muskrat. 
Nemox,  ngm'-ox,  the  fisher. 
Pekquam,  pek-ivam',  the  fisher. 

Seksagadagee,  sek'-sd-ga-dd'-gee,  the  Canada  grouse,  or  spruce  partridge. 
Skooktum,  skook'-tum,  the  trout. 
Tookhees,  tok'-hees,  the  wood  mouse. 
Upweekis,  up-wee k'-iss,  the  Canada  lynx. 


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